


Fixed Points in Time

by DracoNunquamDormiens



Series: Bleed Black: The First War [2]
Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Comedy, Crossover, Gen, Humor, Merlin - Freeform, Other, time-travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-15
Updated: 2017-03-26
Packaged: 2018-10-05 09:25:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 67,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10303415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DracoNunquamDormiens/pseuds/DracoNunquamDormiens
Summary: Sirius. James. The Tenth Doctor. 'Nuff said.





	1. What?

**Disclaimer:** Sirius and James and any reference to the Potter-verse are JK's, or WB's or whoever else is getting a slice of the Harry Potter Pie. The Tenth Doctor (used here for the visual enhancements of the story), Torchwood, and his universe(s) belong to the BBC, and thus, to the Empire. Do not mess with the Empire. Not getting any money out of this, it's all done for the sheer joy of entertainment. Anything you don't recognise from either these universes is mine. Enjoy.

* * *

**Part One: What?!**

* * *

 

It started off as a regular day, all things considered.

The Sun was shining out his mass of rays, product of the ongoing atom-smashing it engaged in, as it would for another five billion years, give or take a millennium or two.

People were going about their respective businesses all over the tiny globe flitting across the universe at a thousand miles per hour, more commonly known as Earth. Shops opened on one side of the Earth while they closed on another. The wars that had been raging on in certain areas of the planet raged on as usual. Cars flooded the streets and motorways of all five continents. In Copenhagen, people cycled. The Sea Shepherds faced down whalers in the Arctic Ocean; Greenpeace was organising simultaneous direct actions (whatever that meant) in seven countries and having trouble synchronising their watches in all those time zones. Kids went to school. Grown-ups went to work. The homeless begged for money. Over half the population was watching the telly. A further quarter of it was online, downloading and chatting and web-surfing to their heart's content. The L.I.N.D.A. bunch especially. A new species of bacteria was discovered, at the same time ten animal species that were never even known became extinct. Some went to their churches to pay homage to their gods. The ill were ill. The rich enjoyed their riches. The industries were industrious...

In short, some died, some lived. The rest teetered in between both extremes, with varying degrees of success. The dolphins were debating leaving the planet early and trying come up with a way to thank the humans for all the fish they had been given.

Even the Doctor was going about his business. Which, today, happened to be Earth-based. And which, at the moment, was roughly centred on running like the Dickens.

His splashing footsteps, which echoed in the tunnel he was trying to escape from and which in turn was located way, way below London, were not the only sound heard down there. Nor were his ears the only ones hearing it. Dozens of heavy steps echoed and splashed after him, making the ground shake. They weren't the only thing sent after the doctor, either; there were voices, ordering him to stop already and give in to his inevitable fate; there were bullets accompanying these voices, trying to enforce the statements that reached his ears.

Of course, the Doctor responded by just running faster. Having two hearts was handy in many ways. A greater endurance than most was just one of the many perks of being a Time-lord.

Even if he was completely lost and had no idea where he was going.

Wouldn't be the first time.

The Sontaran troops hot in pursuit, though, seemed to have a pretty good idea of where he was headed; they proved his theory right when, after turning a sharp right corner, another dozen Sontarans cut him off up ahead. The Doctor backpedalled. The Sontarans behind him shouted in anticipated victory. The Doctor took a left, then a right, another left...

"I swear I saw a ladder here somewhere," he muttered, stumbling over his feet and nearly falling on his face in the muck that coated the inside of this old, disused sewage system. It was, perhaps, a good thing: a handful of bullets narrowly missed his head and impacted the walls of the tunnel all around him. " _OY_!" he shouted at the Sontarans. "Watch it! You'll hurt someone at this rate – _me_!"

They were annoyed, certainly. But, as the Doctor believed, this wasn't a reason to shoot him like he was the last turkey for Christmas. Having ruined their plan of blowing up the Houses of Parliament while it was in full session, though... could be seen as an offence punishable by death in their book. He still carried the detonator with him, as he had been found out before he could permanently disable it.

A good thing, too. The thing would have blown up had he tried to disable it then; and he needed two things he didn't have in order to make it safe – time, and his TARDIS.

Of course, the Sontarans knew this, hence all the shooting. They didn't care who died in the explosion that would wipe out half of the City of London, after all, as long as many did so, leaving them a free run of the government amidst the ensuing chaos. Talk about a coup d'état. If they managed to kill him, well. That was exactly what would happen. There were thirty-six explosive devices still attached all over the building, all controlled by the small black device rattling about in the Doctor's long coat, all of them still active.

He turned a left corner, backtracked in a hurry as he saw the Commander of the Sontarans – the one with the huge gap between his front teeth – leading what looked like an entire battalion down another bit of the sewers a little ways ahead.

Some fix, this. The Doctor was panting, feeling increasingly cornered. He rarely lost his way, but as it happened, this was one of these rare times. He hoped the Sontarans were as lost as he was. Maybe he should hide the detonator and hope for the best?

He was pondering this most weighty decision – after all, the Sontaran commander would want the honour of pushing the big red button of the detonator himself. If he hid it, then he could perhaps hope to stay alive enough to negotiate his way out of these tunnels and get a chance at stopping them—

No sooner had this thought crossed his mind, that a bullet hit him in the leg. With a scream, the Doctor went crashing down, hard, into the muck—

He was unaware of the fact that the Sontaran army wasn't the only one following him. There were two sets of footsteps hurrying around these tunnels that were different; and these two, at least, knew where they were going.

Sort of.

Then again, the Doctor was rather busy at the moment, trying to get up past the searing pain in his leg, which had just decided it wasn't going to play along anymore, thanks – and staring at the approaching Sontarans. They were aiming their guns at him. He hated guns with a passion. Interesting, really, how no matter which corner of space life evolved, eventually every single one of them developed a distance killing device. i.e., a gun of some sort or other.

They weren't shooting, though, he noted, clutching his leg and trying not to pass out right there.

Not yet, anyway.

Which could only mean one thing.

And it was a very bad thing, too; the commander was worse than the lot of them put together.

The Doctor started searching his pockets for his sonic screwdriver, maybe if they waited long enough – a few seconds at most – he could reverse the mechanism of their guns and render them useless.

He nearly cried out in frustration. His sonic screwdriver was...

" _Gone_!" he wheezed, wiping at his sweaty face with a mucky sleeve. Wincing at the movement, he clutched his leg with one hand as he felt around for it; maybe it had only just slipped out of his pocket?

"Ah, the brave Doctor. Not so cocky now, are we? Not so brave, at any rate, cowering like a kicked mongrel," The Sontaran commander leered upon arrival, even as his men – could they even be called that? – stood aside to let him through.

"I'd be standing up if you hadn't shot me in the leg!" the Doctor snapped back. "Well, then again, I'd still be running if you hadn't shot me, so you might have a point."

"You have something of ours, Doctor, and I know you still have it in your pocket. Hand it over, and perhaps we shall let you watch your precious Earth die before you follow her fate."

"I don't know what you're talking about," the Doctor replied through gritted teeth. Already he was regenerating; the bullet lodged in his thigh was slowly, but surely, on its way out... If he could only get enough time to regenerate, then maybe, only maybe... he could make another break for it. Of course, he'd have to get past some thirty feet of solid concrete, but—

"No? A pity. In that case, there is no reason whatsoever to keep you." The Sontarans cocked their guns at him. "What are your last words then, Doctor?"

"There are several very good reasons why I wouldn't recommend shooting me right now," the Doctor started. He was already seeing black specks. Would this be his death? It didn't feel _right_ for a death... "One—"

He didn't get any further.

"Fire!"

Already the Sontarans were shooting. As if in slow motion, he could see the flames issuing forth from the barrels, could almost follow the lightning-fast, spiralling patterns the bullets cut through the air—

Only to watch them freeze right before impact.

And fall to the ground with a wet, muffled clatter.

" _What_?!" the Doctor muttered, staring at the hail of bullets falling to the ground without hitting him, even as the Sontarans' cries of confused rage were heard. A ruckus seemed to have started at the far end of the tunnel as well, which was followed by crashing sounds of – was that a snigger right next to him? – Sontarans hitting the ground.

"It can't be..."

"Oh, yes it can," a voice said confidently, coming from right next to him. The Doctor turned around so fast he cricked his neck... but there was nobody there!

"What? _What_?!" asked the Doctor, baffled, even as a hand closed around his wrist and pulled him away from the Sontaran commander's massive fist, which in turn connected with the wall, rather than his face, which it had been aiming for.

"What is this treachery?" the commander roared. "Show yourselves, cowards! Face your enemy!"

A bark of a laugh was his response, even as the front-most row of Sontarans went crashing, face-forward, to the ground. The Doctor's jaw dropped in sync with them.

There, in front of him, stood a black-haired boy, wielding what looked like a metal-studded club and grinning at the Sontaran commander as he picked his way along the body-strewn tunnel.

"What did I tell you, James? It's _exactly_ like on the telly! One whack to the little tube on the back of their heads, and they're out of commission," the kid grinned at the Doctor, wiggling his eyebrows at him. "Hello there."

"What?" said the Doctor again.

"Do the last one then, and let's get out of here – I hope you remember the way, I'm totally lost," said the disembodied voice from before. It too, sounded like a boy's voice.

" _What_?" the Doctor was very confused. His leg was twinging up a storm as well. That never helped; also, he was rather lost as to what was going on... And that, in itself, was _rare_.

So was the Sontaran commander, although _that_ wasn't uncommon.

He had been aiming his gun at the Doctor when the disturbance started, but was now staring, gob-smacked, at the kid climbing over the bodies of his fallen soldiers like it was an everyday occurrence. He rubbed his small, beady eyes, but the kid was still there, the eerie glow of some unnamed light source giving him an added air of ghostliness.

His confusion gave way to rage in the space of a blinking, however, and not a second later he was calling for reinforcements through his intercom. And charging the boy with the club with the Sontaran Battle Cry of Raging Fury.

" _RAAAA_!" roared the commander, lunging for the boy before the Doctor could so much as react. Which, luckily, wasn't necessary.

The Doctor's eyes widened so much they were threatening to pop out of their sockets: The boy – it _was_ a boy, wasn't it, he couldn't possibly be older than fifteen – sidestepped the commander, flourishing a hand at him as if to let him pass – and the commander went down face forward, only to get a whack to the back of his head with the club.

"There," said the boy. "I hope you're happy for ruining my fun, Prongs." He had turned back to face the Doctor, who was soundlessly opening and closing his mouth. "Hello," the boy repeated, tossing a thin metal rod at him. "You dropped this back there – what _does_ it do, exactly?" he added, as the Doctor caught his sonic screwdriver. "I kept twiddling it, but nothing happened. Except for a weird, dog-awful noise and a blue light. Is it a torch? Or, maybe it's broken?"

"What?"

"Not one for conversation, this one," the disembodied voice commented, making the boy snort.

"Who's there?" the Doctor managed, but he went largely ignored.

"He's just surprised, leave him alone. And take that cloak off; he'll think he's going bonkers if you carry on like that."

"Spoilsport," the voice muttered, but seemed to comply, as the next moment, there was another black-haired boy standing there, holding a silvery something in his hands and grinning at the Doctor. This one had very untidy hair and glasses, and was dressed in much the same fashion the other was; jeans, a black t-shirt, and a long black coat. He extended the hand that wasn't holding the silvery fabric towards the Doctor.

"Hullo," he said, "I'm James Potter. This is Sirius Black. He knows the way out."

"What."

The boys exchanged a look that was part amused, part concerned.

"Can you walk, at all?" asked Sirius, the boy with the club, crouching next to the Doctor and examining him closely. His eyes were an eerie, almost unnaturally clear grey, shining off-white in the flickering half-light of the tunnel. "They hit him on the head, you reckon?" That last was directed to the other one.

"Nah, I didn't let a single bullet through," James replied, sounding rather pleased with himself. "They did get him on the leg, though, but that was _before_ I could get here. I don't think he'll be able to walk. Say, Sirius. What are those things called, then? I'm pretty sure you said they weren't trolls, and up close, well... They don't look like trolls."

"They're the baked potato regiment, what do I know," Sirius answered off-handedly, still peering at the Doctor and making James chuckle. "He does look rather shocked, and if he's hurt, we won't get much help out of him. The fact he was nearly executed probably isn't helping either... Give us a hand, there's a good man." He hooked one of the Doctor's arms around his neck and hoisted him up. "Way out is over here, and we'd better peg it – there's more jacket potatoes coming. We have about... five minutes."

"I'll take your word for it," James answered, helping haul the stunned Doctor down the tunnel after spotting the injury in his leg and bandaging it in a blinking. The Doctor watched them mutely, trying to make sense of things. If there was one thing he couldn't handle, it was not understanding something. And this, he decided, was far out.

Kids simply didn't show up in old, abandoned sewers. Or do any of the things these two were doing.

His speech seemed to want to figure this riddle out as much as he did, though, because he opened his mouth, and out came not 'what?', but, "Who are you, then?"

"We told you. Sirius and James."

"What are you doing here?"

"What does it look like?" James asked back, snorting. "You looked like you could use some help, what with those armoured trolls hot after you and everything..."

"We like tunnels," Sirius added. "And, dunno, we thought it was unfair for you to put up with that lot on your own. We also found them leaving these all over the place." He pulled a few round disks out of one of his coat pockets, showing them to the Doctor. "These were all over the Parliament, the potato bunch was sticking them to the walls. We figured that wasn't exactly a good thing, so we brought them along. I think we managed to get them all. They're flashing and things... Say, what do they do?"

At last, something he understood!

"They're bombs... Explosive charges, with a wireless, long-distance detonator," the Doctor said at once, taking one of them. Now he had a chance to take a breath and realise he was, in fact, not dead, he was also regaining his usual quick articulation skills... And it was the boys' turn to look nonplussed.

"You mean, these.. actually _blow up_?" Sirius asked slowly, his eyebrows rising in earnest surprise.

"But they're _tiny_ ," James cut in, "can't do much damage with that, can you?"

"You could blow the entire city to bits with these," the Doctor answered, much to the boys' undisguised amazement. "How did you take them off without setting them off? They're rather fragile."

"Er. We just... took them," James shrugged. Then he chuckled, turning to Sirius. "Mate, you were whacking away at the potato heads with your pockets full of _bombs_. _Fragile_ bombs, at that." They both seemed to find that very funny for some reason. The Doctor watched them for a few moments, earnestly amazed. Humans were so surprising sometimes.

"Brilliant," Sirius agreed, chortling and bouncing the things up and down in his hand, completely ignoring the Doctor's instinctive flinching. "This way here, then." He led them, still half carrying the Doctor along, to a tunnel that sported a vertical shaft, from which a sliver of light issued. "I'll go first, and we'll just levitate him up, alright?"

"Don't blow anything up," James reminded him. Sirius snorted and started to climb up.

"Yes, mummy."

"Maybe you ought to sit down for a bit," James told the Doctor. "He's gone to check if the coast is clear."

"I think I can manage," the Doctor cut in. "It's best if we all go up. Sontarans don't fit in narrow spaces very well... come on."

"But I saw you get shot," James told him, pointing at his leg. "Wait until Sirius gives us the all-clear and we'll get you up in a second. No need to strain yourself." The Doctor flashed him a smile.

"I'm doing better now." To demonstrate, he stood on his feet, which held his weight, even if his injured leg was still painful as anything. "See?"

James let out a low whistle.

"Oy, Sirius!" he shouted excitedly up the shaft, making the Doctor cringe. "You were right! It's _just_ like you said – he's all healed up!"

"I'm always right," came the answer from high above them. "And now that you've drawn attention to where you are, I suggest you get up here, pronto."

"Oh. Right. Sorry about that."

"Yeah, you sound really remorseful there, Prongs."

James snickered, giving the Doctor a helpless shrug.

"Get cracking, the taters are almost where you are," Sirius' tone contained the exact amount of urgency needed to get James moving, who nodded the Doctor towards the ladder.

"You heard him, go on."

"How does he know?" asked the Doctor, climbing up the first few rungs. "How does he know where they are?"

"He can smell them a mile away," James said matter-of-factly. "Says they remind him of... pork chops gone bad."

"Ugh. Can't be pleasant." The Doctor climbed up a little higher, James following suit. The distant cries of their pursuers could already be heard faintly, splashing their way towards them.

"Yeah. He sniffed you out too. Said you smelled like vanilla ice cream, but personally, I think he was just taking the piss."

"Get a move on, you'll hear them in a sec," Sirius called down. "That means they'll be right where you are—and there's enough room for them to go after you."

"I think they won't be able to," the Doctor said, setting the sonic screwdriver and handing it to James, who was a little ways below. "Hold it against the rungs, hurry."

"What's this do, then?" Of all the times to demand an explanation.

"Just— _do it_!"

"Alright, alright..." Rolling his eyes, James touched the screwdriver to the rung he'd just left, watching as it burned a hole through the metal. "Oh, that's neat," he commented, apparently unbothered by the fact more Sontarans had spotted them and were running their way with the force of as many charging rhinos. "This here though, is loads faster." He returned the screwdriver, pulling out a stick – the Doctor was about to ask what that was all about, but one tap of the stick later, the lower end of the ladder was crashing down already.

"Oy, stop gawping and start climbing," Sirius reminded the Doctor some ten feet higher up. "We're nearly at the Tube, we can lose them there!"

Reluctantly and full of questions dying to burst out, the Doctor obeyed; this meant he completely missed the diversion James left the Sontarans, in the form of a metal dragon he'd charmed out of the broken-off ladder, and which did a terrific job at turning the tables on them in less than a minute. Instead, he climbed out of the shaft, aided out by Sirius, and trotted with them both out of the network of service tunnels and into Westminster Station.

This day was far from ordinary already, and it wasn't even lunchtime.

 

* * *

TBC. R&R and all that.


	2. What? What?!

**Disclaimer: Kindly refer to the disclaimer in Part 1. This one is the continuation of the same.**

* * *

**Part Two: What?! What?!**

* * *

Sirius said he was hungry and wanted fish and chips, so they had all obligingly gone to a chip shop, where he wasted no time getting a triple-extra-huge order of everything there was to offer; James wanted to watch 'the action' unfolding after they left Westminster Station, so they had crossed the bridge and found themselves on the other side of the Thames, for the panoramic; as for the Doctor, all he wanted was to sit down for a bit, let his leg heal some more, and deactivate those explosives before these kids accidentally set them off, so they had found a little café by the waterfront that met all of their needs.

They were covered in drying muck, and in the Doctor's case, blood, which wasn't drawing as much attention as it perhaps should have. Then again, the three score ambulances, police cars and vans – and even what looked like miniature tanks—that crowded the area surrounding the Houses of Parliament were hogging up everyone's attention.

Including James'.

"Sirius, look!" he exclaimed, pointing at the river. "They have those little boats with flashing lights and all — they're pretty fast. Can we get one?"

"Sure, why not?" Sirius agreed past a mouthful of chips after glancing at the police boats with rather less enthusiasm than James, who looked like he'd never even seen one before and clearly found them awesome. "I'll nick us a couple and we can race each other all the way from Westminster to the sea."

"Excellent idea." James beamed at Sirius for a second and then focused on the police boats, already scheming – while Sirius made a grab for more chips and pulled one of the small round metallic trinkets out of his coat, for the Doctor to tinker with. Police boats he had seen before. This, though, was new to him, and very interesting.

"What's that thing, then?" he asked the Doctor as he pulled that little metal rod out again and started to turn the bomb around, looking for a place to start working on it. He gestured at it with a bit of cod. "If... it's not a torch?"

"Sonic screwdriver," answered the Doctor, squinting at the near-invisible seam of the explosive capsule.

" _That's_ your _sonic screwdriver_?" Sirius asked, baffled. He gave a startled laugh.

"What with it?"

"Well... It doesn't look like one."

"What do you _mean_ , it doesn't look like one?" the Doctor retorted, looking at him over the rim of his 'brainy specs', completely confused. "Where have you seen another one before? You didn't even know what it was a second ago!"

"I know what they look like, and _that_ , doesn't look anything like it," Sirius countered, swallowing his bite. The Doctor shook his head with a little eyeroll and resumed his work.

"Oy... Does it _have_ to make that noise?" interrupted his careful dismantling of the highly sensitive explosive device. The Doctor looked up again. Sirius was screwing up his face at him. He let go of the screwdriver's actuator... Sirius relaxed. "Doesn't it drive you mad?"

"It's your yacking that's going to drive me mad," the Doctor muttered between his teeth. Sirius snorted.

Sirius cringed every time the Doctor put his sonic screwdriver to use; the noise it made, inaudible for anyone else, pierced his acutely sensitive ears like so many needles. Certainly, that didn't keep him from polishing his food off like an impending famine had just been announced.

Nor did it keep him from watching everything going on around them, from that blonde girl who was sitting a few feet away and whose legs he found quite fetching; to the goings-on across the river, where, as James had just announced, the baked potatoes were coming out, apparently still fleeing from what some lookers-on described as a 'rabid winged creature' – courtesy of James of course; to whatever it was the Doctor was doing... not to mention, that man a few tables away who was glancing at them every so often, whispering into his newspaper, probably thinking himself the epitome of sneakiness and clever disguise.

Sirius was on to him, though. He could hear every word, almost – except for the bits he missed when that screwdriver started sonicking about and all but killed his inner ear.

And his head while it was at it. It hadn't sounded remotely like that on the telly... On the telly, the noise it made had been _bearable_.

"So these, er... Sontarans," he resumed the chat of sorts he was having with the Doctor – or trying to, at any rate. "What did they want to blow up the Parliament for?"

"To take over the Earth," the Doctor replied, trading Sirius the inactive bomb for an active one. Sirius raised an eyebrow, still chewing. It made him look like some sort of monkey. A clueless one. "They wanted to take out the most prominent figures of the government, take advantage of the chaos, and do away with the army. Eventually, they would either kill off the whole of mankind – or, rather, most of you, you're hard as anything to get rid of – or subjugate them... Then again," he added as an afterthought, "they could just have been bored and come to pick a fight. Target practice, as it were."

"Ah," said Sirius, breaking off a bit of haddock and smothering it in vinegar before popping it in his mouth. "Good thing it didn't work out, then. And that little red light on your screwdriver, what's it for?" he gestured at it.

"Breaks deadlock seals," the Doctor informed, completely absorbed in what he was doing, and thus, missing Sirius' rather pained expression every time the little red light lit up.

"Ah yes, sounds... right handy. I've been wondering, though." Sirius traded his near-empty bag of chips for James' abandoned one in one smooth motion, and all but upended the vinegar bottle into it, still munching away. "What's a 'deadlock seal', exactly?"

"A double seal that keeps a casing in vacuum by pressure," the Doctor replied absently, watching yet another bomb disappear into the depths of Sirius' coat. Sirius handed him a new one. "The red setting breaks off the seal, so I can deactivate the controls using the blue setting. Just the thing to have, a sonic screwdriver." He winked at Sirius, switching to the blue and demonstrating.

"What's the deal with these 'controls', then?" Sirius inquired with a grimace, propping his head up on his hand and helping himself to some cod. "How does the bomb work?"

"There is a tiny computer chip and wiring hooked onto a small capsule of liquid explosive, which is then stuck inside a brick of a solid explosive," the Doctor explained in his usual fast pace. "When the detonator is activated – that's the round black one with the big red button, by the way – the wiring emits a signal, the capsule breaks, the two elements mix... And _boom_."

"So you just... um, break the wiring, then?" Sirius seemed to be having a bit of a hard time following the details of the Doctor's little speech. Nothing the Doctor wasn't used to, so he overlooked it.

"That's right, and with this, I can change the explosives' atomic array. It's turned into a harmless, inactive sort of... eh, you could call it a lump of clay, and even if the capsule should break, it doesn't blow up. It can't, because it's something else entirely. Clever, eh?"

" _Ooh_ , I get it now." The Doctor smiled, rather smug at the awed look he was getting. "Could I... give it a go?" Sirius offered.

In the background, James was whooping loudly to the developments across Westminster Bridge, blanking them completely. Sirius could tinker about with his muggle stuff all he wanted; James, on the other hand, was waiting for the last part of his master plan to show.

"Alright. Just hold the red end of the screwdriver to the casing right next to the yellow light... be very careful," the Doctor said, graciously handing Sirius the bomb, and offering him the screwdriver to use. "And then – whoa! What are you _doing_?!"

"Look at it, just _look_!" James shouted gleefully just then, watching his metallic dragon swoop out of Westminster Station, which had, up until now, been crawling with fleeing people. Now, however, Sontarans were spilling out of it, more focused on battling it than killing humans. "Oh, isn't it just _beautiful_?"

The Doctor, though, paid none of that any mind. His eyes were fixed on Sirius, who was holding the bomb in the flat of his hand, making it glow a pale blue, while craning his head around to look at what James was pointing at.

There was a sizzling sound... and then a noise like a balloon deflating... and all the flashing lights on the bomb went out. The Doctor caught a whiff of ginger... and the bomb, which Sirius had tossed at him as he got up.

"Like this?" he asked, already following James to the end of the terrace to get a better look at the dragon thing. The Doctor followed, examining the bomb as he went. It was completely... dead.

"A ridgeback," Sirius was telling James, laughing and clapping him on the back. "You just _had_ to make a ridgeback. Good one," he praised.

"Pretty effective too," James agreed, grinning. "Easily the most impressive I've ever made, out of a rusty ladder, to boot. Those troll things never even _saw_ it coming until it was too late, I was so _quick_."

"'Course they didn't see it," Sirius agreed with an all-knowing air, fishing the last of James' chips out of the bag and licking his fingers. "Even if you'd taken an hour to make it, they wouldn't have seen it."

"Why's that?"

"Sontarans can't look up."

"They can't?"

"I don't think they can; I mean, look at the size of their necks. They can't even glance around over their shoulders."

"What did you _do_?" the Doctor asked, interrupting Sirius' and James' debate.

"Vanquish the tiny trolls," James said proudly, jabbing a thumb at them. "And I'm sure they _can_ look up," he told Sirius.

"They _can't_ look up, James, just watch them. They can't even see your dragon unless they're flat on their backs. And I did what you said," Sirius supplied next. "I cut the wires from the capsule thing and turned the explosive into something else. There's a gingerbread man in there now, want to see it? I gave it your face."

"You didn't use the screwdriver," the Doctor deadpanned, eyes open wide, teeth pressed together. Sirius shook his head, flashing him a lopsided smile.

"I can't stand the noise it makes," he said. "Doesn't it hurt your ears? Honestly, that thing will leave you stone deaf. Mind if I...?" he had pulled all other bombs out of his pockets, and, a few sizzles later, they were all quite effectively done with. "It's faster this way, don't you think? Would you mind terribly if I kept them? Nah, didn't think so." He pocketed the lot without waiting for an answer.

The Doctor blinked.

"How did you _do_ that?"

"Magic," Sirius grinned, now looking smug himself. "I'll explain later. Right now, though... I'm sorry, but we have to dash. Now."

"What?" the others chorused. James sounded disappointed. The Doctor, once more, sounded plain lost.

"That man over there, the one in the black suit. He just called Torchwood over," Sirius informed matter-of-factly, nodding his head at the culprit. "And we don't want to be where _they_ are."

"Oh, no we don't," James agreed at once. "Not again."

" _Again_?" the Doctor seemed to be stuck in parrot mode. Sirius nodded.

"Yep. Long story. We're not exactly friends, and I'm sure they're no friends of yours either, to judge about how they're itching to dissect you. Shall we, now? Um, let's go... that way."

" _Dissect_?" the Doctor asked, following James and Sirius at a quick limp. "What do you mean by 'dissect'?"

"Er... that... _thing_ they do, where they cut bits out of you and stick them into those contraptions... Machines... Ah, equipment, was the word they used," Sirius supplied for an explanation he evidently didn't quite know how to provide. "I'd never seen anything like it, but that's what they called it. 'Dissection' or something of the sort."

"To the matter at hand, Sirius, please." James reminded him impatiently. No longer was he the most awed tourist ever to set foot on this side of the Thames; now, his bespectacled eyes flashed this way and that, completely alert. Sirius, too, had changed his bearing; he was covering James' and the Doctor's back, and both moved so smoothly together, that not an inch of their surroundings was overlooked.

"Oh yes, sorry. As I said, go that way. We'll figure it out from there."

As they made their way towards the Tower of London amidst the crowds watching the Parliament, the Doctor saw Sirius and James pull out almost identical, slender sticks out of their coat pockets. They looked a bit like drumsticks, but weren't. He'd seen them put to use already... And it all seemed rather familiar as well. But no, it couldn't be possible.

What were they, though? Sort of like guns? He found himself bristling at the sight of them.

"So, which way shall we disappear off to, then?" Sirius asked, twirling his stick in his fingers and looking around, sniffing the air. "They'll be here any minute."

"The Tower?" James suggested. "I find it rather reminiscent of home. What do you think, Barty?" he asked the Doctor. Sirius choked back a laugh.

This was worlds different from what the Doctor was used to. By now, he'd have been running. Not that he could run very well just yet, he'd manage a limping trot, tops – but... that was his usual go-to-war.

"What did you call me?" he asked, nonplussed.

"That's a yes," James decided.

"Alright, to the Tower we go," Sirius agreed, striking up the path to the plaza outside the Tower of London, which was virtually devoid of people – everyone was either down at the quay, watching the lightshow at the Houses of Parliament, or running away from danger. "We have to shake off that bloke over there, though. He's following us, and we won't have the cover of a crowd in a second..."

"I _hate_ being followed around," James muttered, turning on his heel and making his way to the gift shop across the little plaza. "Especially by muggles. Back in a few. Stay in one piece, mate, and try not to demolish the Queen's property."

"And you try not to _break_ anything," Sirius retorted, shaking his head at James' retreating back.

"What's he doing?" the Doctor asked, a little miffed.

This not-knowing-anything business had to stop. It was starting to grate on him. And it _wasn't_ good when he got annoyed. And why did he just get called _Barty_?

"Creating a diversion, I reckon. C'mon. He can take care of himself." Sirius marched the Doctor down the steps to the fence surrounding the Tower, eyeing the grassy moat keenly. "We could... hide inside the Tower; I bet there's a bunch of hidden passages in there that we could use..."

This, the Doctor had no problem with. A second's concentration later, he had recalled every nook and cranny of the ancient fortress he'd helped build, and hurried towards the bridge with newfound determination.

"There's a small storage room that was closed off decades ago, in the Devereux Tower. Nobody even remembers it, but it has a passage – a passage that leads to the moat..."

Instead of the customary questions as to how he had come by that sort of knowledge, Sirius nodded, his tension fading in the space of a breath.

"Great, we can hide in there and then leave through the passage when the Torchwood agents find us out and are trying to unlock the door," Sirius said brightly, still twirling his stick and clapping the Doctor on the back. "I like it. Does your leg still hurt? Will you be able to run when we have to dash?"

The Doctor chuckled, shaking his head. He was used to people arguing over this sort of plan; Torchwood was a government agency after all, no matter how secret. The very people guarding the Tower would be hot after them if – and when – they were found out. And yet, Sirius didn't seem to mind. He was grinning as he went, looking casually over his shoulder. The Doctor did the same.

The man who had been following them seemed to have a bit of a problem with his laces, which were now tied together. And his trousers, which were sliding down steadily, no matter what he did to try and pull them up. He fell to the ground with a flailing yell, even as his trousers fell around his ankles, tripped up by an invisible something. People were stopping and crowding around him, possibly thinking him one of those weird street acts. Some were trying to help, but others were even throwing coins at him.

"What about James?" the Doctor asked, as they reached the soldier guarding the entrance to the Tower of London.

"He'll catch up. Don't worry," Sirius told him confidently. "How do we get past _him_ , though?" He gestured at the guard by the gate.

"Easy. Just play along," said the Doctor in a swagger. This was a little specialty of his, getting into places. Sirius pocketed his stick and curiously followed a half-step behind him. "And tuck in your shirt, cadet."

Sirius laughed.

"Whatever you say, Sir!" But he did as he was told, acquiring a bearing and stride that would make any drill sergeant proud at once.

"UNIT, special security advisor," the Doctor told the Yeoman Warder authoritatively upon reaching him, flashing the psychic paper at him. "You're probably aware of the to-do over at the Parliament," he added, before the guard could so much as say hello. Sirius bit his lip to keep from laughing.

"I'm Colonel Chief Security Officer John Smith, and this," the Doctor gave Sirius a stern once-over and a short nod, "this is... First-Class, Special Junior Officer, Lieutenant... S-Stockholm," he added decisively, ignoring Sirius' rather fixed stare at his chosen title, but noticing the slight frown of mistrust in the guard's eyes.

Sirius was, after all, ridiculously young to have any sort of rank or even be anywhere near danger, he was wearing nothing remotely like a uniform, and both of them were very dirty. And starting to smell.

"He's been specially promoted from the Special Forces Academy, kid genius, probably will run the MI-6 before he's of age," the Doctor added matter-of-factly, pocketing the psychic paper. "Never mind him. We've come to inspect the area for enemy presence. Have all the civilians been evacuated?"

"Sir, yes sir!" the guard replied loudly, presenting arms and saluting. Sirius smirked. The Doctor rolled his eyes.

"Stop that, just answer my questions," he said impatiently. "Who all is in there?"

"The guard and the Lord Ravenmaster, Sir," the Yeoman replied promptly. "The Ravenmaster would not leave his ravens."

"And rightly so," the Doctor said, making to cross the bridge. "You know that, should the Ravens go missing, the Kingdom would crumble."

"To bits," Sirius pitched in, leaning forward ever so slightly.

"Yes, Sir." The guard, however, did notice something, turning concerned at once. "But Sir, you are injured – should I call for a medic?"

"There's no need for that, Yeoman Warder Jenkins," Sirius cut in, mimicking the Doctor's imperious demeanour and clipped tones with the ease of a seasoned actor. "Rather, I would urge you to reinforce the security at the Crown Jewels vault straight away. Send every spare man and woman there. In fact, send everyone there. We have reason to believe the terrorists are after them. Oh," he added as an afterthought, "do send a contingent to safeguard those ravens. We cannot have that prophecy come true – send a squadron to catch the ravens and keep them safe. And don't let anyone in, no matter who they claim they are. The enemy is clever, but then again, so are we." The Doctor raised an eyebrow in appreciation. This kid did know how to play along formidably. Already the guard was saluting them, presenting arms again. Sirius, though, did not stop him from doing so.

"Guard this gate with your life, Yeoman. And the Ravens. And the Jewels. For Queen and Country," he ordered instead, nodding at the man, hands behind his back.

"Queen and Country, Sir!"

"And lock that gate!" the Doctor called over his shoulder. They crossed the gate, which was subsequently shut and locked behind them with a loud _clang_. Sirius snickered, even as the guard started relaying his orders over a two-way radio.

"That," he said, "was _brilliant_."

"Guard the gate for Queen and Country, eh?" the Doctor asked, chuckling.

"Saw it on a film once," Sirius replied, chortling as he saw every military man and woman storm towards the Crown Jewels vault, and a squad of red berets rushing towards the Raven areas.

"What about 'Guard the Ravens with your life?' I don't believe that has ever been used before," the Doctor pointed out, chortling. Sirius shrugged his response.

"What can I say? I like Ravens." He looked a little nostalgic all of a sudden. "I had a friend who owned one. The fat little bugger would threaten to peck out your eyes unless you fed him candy at every turn."

"Your friend kept a raven as a _pet_?"

"A fat one," Sirius confirmed, stopping before the inner courtyard. "It was a while back – Still..." he chuckled again, steering the topic back to the present. "I can't believe _that_ worked so well."

"Start believing, Lt. Stockholm," the Doctor suggested, pointing his sonic screwdriver at the cameras overhead and gesturing for Sirius to follow him down a passage that was clearly not open to tourists. "This way, come on."

* * *

"Okay people," Captain Jack Harkness addressed his team next to the ticket booth outside the Tower of London. "The Doctor was spotted here no more than ten minutes ago. It seems those two kids we saw at the Parliament are with him; they could either be his hostages, or he could be theirs. We don't know their intentions yet, but if they're teaming up with the Sontarans, we're in for a world of trouble."

"Jack, they're just kids," Gwen tried, yet again, to explain. "They're two lost kids, how could they be mixed up with the Sontarans? Or hold someone like the Doctor hostage?"

"I don't know," Jack said. "But we can't risk it."

"So we're just assuming they're the enemy, is that it?"

"We'll know for sure once we capture them," Jack replied. "I'm sorry Gwen, but you've seen what sort of damage they can do – they might be kids, but..." he sighed. This wasn't easy for him, either. "Until we have solid proof they mean no harm to the Earth or anyone, we have to treat them as the enemy."

Beth grumbled something, shaking her head. But she stayed put rather than leaving, which was the most Jack could ask for at the moment.

"Intel said they went into the Tower," Jack told the rest. "They convinced the guard that they were some sort of higher command officers, here to check the security. And," he added, "only one of the kids went in. The other could be out here, so watch your backs."

* * *

"Alright, here we are," the Doctor said, having successfully opened the heavy reinforced iron door that led to a small antechamber made out of rough stonework. Sirius followed him in, taking in the thick layer of dust coating what looked like every inch of the old, moth-eaten furniture and suits of armour that seemed to have been stored here centuries before and subsequently forgotten.

The Doctor shut the door securely, bolting and locking it once more.

"What about James?" he asked Sirius, who shrugged.

"He'll call as soon as he can," he replied. "He's alright, I'd know if something had gone wrong."

"How come?"

"Er." Sirius frowned a little, trying, apparently, to find the words. "We have a link of sorts. I can tell if he's in trouble, and the other way round. Right now, though, he's hiding out right under the drawbridge, and he just needs to know where we are to find us."

"He won't be able to get in," the Doctor reminded Sirius. "Nobody can, they'd have to destroy the door, and it's triple-reinforced steel."

"Could be made of butter, for all he cares," Sirius answered, amused. "Don't worry about it, he's got ways of getting here. Then again, so do Torchwood. They can app—er, teleport, I think they call it."

"Yes, it's been an experiment of theirs for a while," the Doctor said. "How do you know about them?"

Sirius scratched the back of his ear, shrugging one shoulder and looking rather grim. "It's complicated..."

"Try me," the Doctor replied at once. "I'm the master of complicated."

"Alright," Sirius told him, sitting down on a bench and making dust fly up. "Torchwood... well, they caught me a few years ago. I mean... a few years for them. It was a couple of weeks ago for us. We'd landed in the middle of this fight, _completely unintentionally_ I might add, but we were separated, and they caught me. I reckon they thought we had something to do with that lizard thing. James got me out, but... They... sort of never got over it. No matter where we go, we can't stay for longer than a few hours, unless it's some far-off place that's near impossible to get to. They always catch up with us, and try to... well. You should know what they specialise in."

"I have a fair idea, yes," the Doctor answered, frowning. "What do you mean by, a few years ago for _them_?"

"What, do you think you're the only one who can time-travel?" James' voice asked from very close by, making him jump. Sirius, though, pulled out what looked like a small mirror and looked into it. "Where are you two?"

"In a room, by the Devereux Tower. It's smack inside the castle though," Sirius answered. "What about you?"

"I'm under the bridge," James' voice supplied. "About to follow the Torchwood folks inside. They were having an argument of sorts," he added. "They seem to think that we've captured Barty."

"Who's Barty?" the Doctor asked.

"You," Sirius chortled. "Sorry, but – you do look just like him."

"Could be twins," James' voice agreed. "Anyway, they're saying that we have the Doctor and are holding him hostage."

"What?" the Doctor asked. He was pretty sure he hadn't given them his name...

"Hostage?" Sirius echoed.

"Yeah, and get this, mate—they're coming to his _rescue_."

"That... can't be," Sirius muttered, paling. "That's not right... Don't they hate his guts?"

"Not anymore, apparently," James' voice said flippantly.

"That's not good," Sirius breathed. "Did you know about this?" he shot at the Doctor. What if this was a trap? And he'd walked into it like a sodding moron!

"Torchwood was all but destroyed a couple of years ago," the Doctor explained. "They're friends of mine now... it's all different. It's changed."

" _Friends_?" Sirius – and James – echoed. Sirius was staring at the Doctor like he had grown a second head. " _Friends_?!"

"Alright, so only one of them is. I still avoid Torchwood every time I can, though. Their policies don't sit well with me."

"Sirius, _get out of there_ ," James' voice urged. "Get out _now_ , they're headed your way."

"I've got to go, he's right," Sirius said, pocketing his mirror. He looked very confused and a little betrayed too. "You're welcome to come if you want... but then, why would you; you're not hunted by them, are you?"

"Well, not anymore I'm not," said the Doctor. "But that's a good thing, though. I'll just explain things to them, and—"

" _No_!" both Sirius and James said at once. James' voice came out muffled from inside Sirius' coat.

"They'll take us back there," Sirius told him hotly. "Stick us in those cages and poke and prod to heart's content! It's _Torchwood_ , that's what they do! And we're not going back there," he warned. "Never again." Sirius turned on his heel...

And he disappeared with a _pop_ , leaving a stunned Doctor behind.

"What...?" he mouthed, but didn't stop to wonder about it.

Instead, he opened the hidden trapdoor to the passage and hurried out as fast as his – still rather stiff – leg would allow.

 

* * *

 

TBC.


	3. In the Realm of the Impossible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor is stumped, James and Sirius watch TV, Jack is... Jack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Same as in chapter one.

* * *

**Part Three: In the Realm of the Impossible**

* * *

 

"What now?" James asked Sirius, leaning against the inside of the bridge's arch. They hadn't moved; Everywhere around them was teeming with the military now, and they were too rattled to apparate – what if they splinched themselves? – so they had settled for plan C: sit it out hiding in the open, try and figure things out, and use the time-turner if things went wrong.

Plan C was usually where they got to when they were unable to come up with something clever. In other words, the plan was, 'do nothing and see what comes of it'.

Sirius shrugged one shoulder.

"I don't get it," he said. "I watched the whole programme, didn't I... and so far, everything's more or less the same here, this should be the bit between series two and... No. Three and four, where he's dumped the Martha girl, but hasn't hooked up with the redhead yet... Then again," he added, more to himself than for James' benefit, "I did sort of nod off there when he's on the run from the Master at the end of series three... but it couldn't have been all that important."

"Whatever that means," James said, watching Sirius with concern. "Can we trust him or not?"

"I don't know," Sirius admitted. "If he's friends with Torchwood, we're done for. Him we could maybe trust, he's proven to be exactly like what I saw... It's Torchwood that can't be trusted... Even if he says it's changed, that's only with regards to him. I watched a couple of episodes... They're basically... weird." He heaved a sigh, rubbing his head. "Maybe we should just go. Think of something else... Get something to eat."

"You just had like, half the shop's fish and chips," James pointed out. "And you stole my food, to boot, you cheeky bugger."

"And I ate your left-overs," Sirius pointed out. "I'm still hungry."

"You're turning into a bloody cow."

"Moo. Mmm, steak, now there's a thought."

"Yeah, but..." James pondered the matter for a moment. "It took us this long to find him, and you said it yourself... He can help, can't he? So, if we leave, we'll lose him again, and fun though it is, we'd be getting nowhere."

"I know," Sirius sighed. "I don't know what to make of him, though. How about we just go before they show up and try to kill us or something?"

"Or maybe you can stop running."

Sirius' and James' heads snapped up as one. There, staring at them even though they were under the invisibility cloak, stood the Doctor.

"Go on, scoot over. I'm not invisible, as you can see. Is there room for me under that thing?"

James and Sirius exchanged a look. It lasted not a second, but contained volumes of information. And then, as one, they lowered the cloak.

"Blimey, that's a nice little trick," the Doctor said, beaming at them. "Is there though? Room for me to fit under there?"

"Barely," said James, but he did scoot over, as did Sirius, who concealed the time-turner before pulling the cloak aside completely.

"Are you going to rat on us?" he asked bluntly.

"No. Whatever would I do that for?" the Doctor replied earnestly, squeezing himself between them with a grunt. "Clever, this thing. Makes you invisible, then?"

James nodded mutely. The Doctor shook his head with a disbelieving smile, even as the boys pulled it over their heads again.

"This is one _neat_ way of hiding out," he stated next, fascinated, but keeping his voice low enough not to be overheard by their pursuers. "Ah, you can just be right _there_ , in the very thick of things, unseen and unnoticed by everyone, while they're going spare looking for you... It's _brilliant_!" He sobered up a tad, losing his almost dreamy smile and tone. "But it's not proving very effective of late, is it?"

James and Sirius both looked down, identical looks on their faces. These, the Doctor was familiar with as well – he had seen these drawn expressions over and over again throughout his life, had often worn a similar one to theirs in the past; born of despair and fighting uneven odds for the longest time, of defeat over and over, of the unwillingness to give up on hope and looking for a solution to a seemingly impossible problem, no matter how taxing it was.

Instead of waiting for either of them to answer, the Doctor pulled out his sonic screwdriver, and started shining it all over Sirius.

"Ow," Sirius gasped, taken off-guard. "Ow – stop that!"

"What are you doing?" James asked, staring at him in alarm. "It's hurting him, stop it!"

"Your ears are more sensitive to sound than before, right?" the Doctor asked Sirius instead, pocketing his screwdriver. He'd found out what he wanted. "The tiniest little noise grates on you, and it hurts your head, like it's amplified? Hmm? Am I right?"

Sirius nodded, rubbing his temples. "It's never been this bad," he mumbled.

"There's a tracking device on you," the Doctor told Sirius softly, but no less quickly. "It's a biometric reading device that is astonishingly precise, transmitting a low-frequency signal so powerful it could cross entire _galaxies_ and pinpoint you with a failure margin so tiny it's not even worth mentioning it – That's how they find you every time. That's how I found you just now, using my screwdriver... It creates a vortex," he added. "Feeding off your energy, that's why you're so hungry all the time – that's how they have started following you into the past and future – because they _have_ , haven't they?"

The boys didn't answer. James was gaping at him.

"No matter where you go, _literally_... they're there sometime after. It happens most when you're sleeping, that's when it's the strongest, because you're not expending energy on anything else. They track down your signal the minute you stop for a breather, and use it as a road to get straight to you. All you can do is run, and it's not getting you anywhere. Am I right? Oh, _yes I am_." He turned to James, who was staring at him unblinkingly. "You know I am."

"You know a lot about that sort of thing," James hissed. His eyes were flashing a warning the Doctor chose not to ignore. Sirius was looking away, staring off into the distance. He had yet to say anything.

"I can help you," he told them earnestly. "I can get it off. You'd be free of them."

James bit his lower lip, clearly unsure about the whole matter. He kept glancing at Sirius, waiting for his opinion on things.

"Won't you let me at least _try_?" the Doctor pressed on. "That's why you were looking for me, wasn't it? So I could help you?"

"Well... There's quite a bit more to it than that—" James started, but Sirius cut him off.

"Is _he_ going to be helping you do that?" he asked coolly instead, and turning his head, the Doctor found out just what Sirius had been watching.

"Um... Hello?" Jack said, peering into the arch. "Doctor, is it you? Is everything alright... wherever it is you are? You're not shrunk, are you? They've just let the Ravens loose and I'm sure they'd have you for a snack—Hey!"

The Doctor had lowered the cloak. To Jack, it was as if he'd suddenly materialised out of thin air.

"Hello, Jack."

Jack gave them his most winning smile.

"Long time no see, Doctor," he said cheerfully, eyes roving over every bit of James and Sirius that he could see. Which wasn't as much as he'd have liked; they were still half invisible. That fact didn't prevent him from lingering on Sirius rather longer than necessary, the visible bits looked _good_. "That's a cool little trick. And who are your...ah, companions? Going younger every time, are you Doctor?" he winked conspiratorially at him.

"Stop it," the Doctor warned.

"Hey, I'm just saying _hello_. Give it a rest, Doctor. Captain Jack Harkness," he introduced himself brightly, offering Sirius his hand to shake.

Sirius didn't take it though, eyeing Jack with mistrust and not a little confusion, rather than the stunned sort of smile he was used to receiving from everyone – minus, perhaps, the Doctor.

"So," said Jack, realising he had shown up at the worst-possible time. "I take it you're not these boys' hostage, then?"

"No. I'd appreciate if you called off the search. Hunt. Thing."

"It's off," Jack assured him. "It was never really 'on', if you know what I mean. I have everyone looking for you inside. There's nobody out here, you won't be followed."

"That's good news," the Doctor stated, nudging James and Sirius, and making them lower their wands in the same movement. "Don't you two think so? Eh? A bit of good news? No?"

Sirius was still fixing Jack with a piercing look, entirely unimpressed by the whole display.

"Spiffing," he muttered back. "As we're just leaving. C'mon, James." He got to his feet. James followed suit, folding the cloak at a ridiculous speed and sticking it in his pocket.

"Wait—" the Doctor said, scrambling up as well. "Don't go just yet— Jack," he added, "a few years ago, Torchwood captured Sirius here. They were tracking him with a biometric mental vortex creator. Do you know why or what for?"

Jack shook his head.

"Nope. Most of the files were destroyed during the battle of Canary Wharf," he said. "Some of the devices left over were picking up stray signals; that's how we first learned of these two... But really, we just wanted to try and figure out why they're being tracked at all." He seemed to realise something, and turned to look at James and Sirius. "Why _are_ you being tracked?"

"Our stunning good looks?" Sirius suggested dryly. Jack smirked at him, looking him over with a badly-concealed sort of leer.

"Stop _it_ ," the Doctor gritted out impatiently. "I _mean_ it. Leave him alone."

"Alright, _alright_ , I'm sorry," Jack said, laughing. "Can't help myself; he's... You know. Well no, you don't, do you, Doctor? But no, that's not it, Sirius – that's your name, right?" he added.

"What happened to 'treat us like the enemy'?" James seemed to have found his voice again.

"I knew nobody would be in there anymore by the time I'd said that," Jack answered. "Did you think I didn't know you were under here all the time?" He showed James a bracelet he wore on his left wrist. "This detects everyone within range, even if they're invisible."

"Oh."

"So I said what I did to get everyone out of the castle. It worked." Jack smiled at James, who seemed to be doing some quick thinking of his own. "Here's what we can do – I'll go back to headquarters and have a crack at that main computer of ours. Everything was backed up on it, so there should be something there to help us. I'll let you know if I find anything on Sirius, how's that?"

"Sounds good. We should be off, then. Thanks, Jack," the Doctor said, clapping his hands together. "Come on, lads, we'll figure this out much more easily over some tea. There's a shop nearby, they have the best ever mince pies." That caught Sirius' attention, and without another word, he steered them both out from under the arch and out of the moat. Sirius and James were too stunned by the recent developments to protest, though they did cast uneasy glances at each other. This didn't tally at all with their dealings with Torchwood so far. But Jack was leaving, calling to the troops to leave them alone and follow him inside the castle, saying something about making sure the ravens were okay.

"Where, exactly, did you land us?" James hissed at Sirius. "Another parallel universe?"

"I... don't really know anymore. I don't think it's a parallel universe, though."

"How can you tell?"

Sirius shrugged. "It's just a hunch."

"That's it," James said, more loudly now. "I'm setting the time-turner next time, and I don't want to hear you complaining about wherever we land, no matter how rotten it is. I don't care if it's a swamp full of alligators, or a dragon's nest, or Snape's laundry room—"

"I still get another go on it," Sirius answered impassively. "Those are the rules. _Deal with it_."

"Yeah, but you rarely even stop to figure out where – or _when_ – we end up at," James argued.

"More fun that way," Sirius said carelessly. "Don't deny it, you like it that way too. Seeing as you do the same."

"Well yes, but," James was clearly having trouble countering that last. "Sometimes it would be good to know where and when we are at. Like _now_ , for example."

"Earth, early 21st century, year 2008... and it's a Monday," the Doctor supplied cheerfully. "January the 28th, to be exact."

"That's it, then," Sirius said to James, as if that settled the matter. "It's a Monday, hence the lousiness. It's not my fault at all."

"What's wrong with Mondays? I like Mondays, there's always something going on," the Doctor said. "Sundays on the other hand..." He grimaced for an explanation.

"That's the problem I have with Mondays," Sirius replied, burying his hands as deep in his coat as they would go. "You're just out of a kickass weekend, and then wham! Monday rears its ugly head, and suddenly everything's just upside-down. Can't ever rely on _anything_ on a Monday."

"You're saying Mondays are... the reason things go wrong?"

"Precisely; just like today."

"I thought that was Sundays."

"Check your facts," Sirius answered. "I rest my case."

.

* * *

"Impossible."

The Doctor scrubbed his hands down his face. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. Glancing at the boys sitting at the table across from him, he could see they were amused. Grinning. And they hadn't vanished, not even after he decided they were figments of his – admittedly extremely active – imagination, and nothing more.

"Everything alright?" Sirius asked, peering in on him and being entirely too obtrusive. Sirius... It was Sirius _Black_. As in, the _book character_. He was holding a triple-layered extra-cheese hamburger in his hand, not caring that mayo and ketchup were dribbling down it and onto the tabletop as he leaned forward. He took a hearty bite. "You're not going to pass out or anything, are you?"

"No, I'm not," the Doctor responded in defeat. He shouldn't be holding a burger. He shouldn't be able to eat it, either – he shouldn't be here at all!

"Good. Are you ready for the rest of the story, then?" This time it was James who asked. James _Potter_. Potter, yes, as in, the _book character_. It had only just sunk in, which the Doctor attributed to his having been rather out of sorts in those tunnels.

"There's _more_?"

"Don't be daft," Sirius scoffed. "We haven't covered anything. We only told you who we are," he reminded him, gesturing between the two of them. "And... what we are, as you put it. You can't expect that to be everything, now can you? Nothing's that simple."

"I suppose not." Again, the Doctor peered at them through his fingers, which he hadn't lowered. There they were, impossibly white teeth grinning at him, alive and solid as anything. This was... impossible, stretching the limits of impossibility impossibly further into a never-before explored realm of the impossibly impossible. "This is... impossible," he mumbled into his hands.

As if to prove him wrong, Sirius took another huge chunk out of his hamburger and washed it down with a gulp of pop. He seemed adamant on trying every sort of food on the planet; his pockets, which had to be, not just bigger, but _huge_ on the inside, were stuffed with junk food, and ice cream he had done something to, in order to keep it from melting, and drinks, and sushi, a fried chicken, steak-and-kidney pies, and all manner of things besides. The Doctor had only ever seen Time-lord coats have that trait. James' and Sirius' clothes, though, followed the trend. They didn't rip, or burn, or get battered, either, which wasn't something that could be said for the Doctor's own.

A wave of James' wand – a _wand_ , of all things! – had sufficed to clean his mucky clothing better than any dry-cleaner, even repairing the fabric that had been torn by the bullets he'd been shot at with earlier. An additional wave of a wand – it was so strange to think of them as something _real_ – and the boys now tailing him everywhere were squeaky clean as well.

They had proceeded to raid – was there any other word for it? – an ATM, to get some money so Sirius could – yes, again – explore a Tesco's that happened to be on their way to the pie shop they were at now, to purchase enough food to sustain a small army.

Reintroductions were made, and the Doctor was back to being gob-smacked. Only, this time it was different. This time, his brain had engaged the over-drive, and he was making loose ends connect in a myriad of possibilities, to explain the presence of two _fictional characters_ in the _real world_.

They, though, didn't seem too bothered about it, they were even letting him sort himself out – likely to prevent him from passing out in front of them before they told him exactly how they had come to be here, solid and real, and – this was perhaps the most boggling of all – retaining their magic.

_Magic!_

He was losing it.

"... And the flying creature spotted earlier has not yet been captured by the military forces," a newscaster's voice trailed faintly towards them from the television set at the far end of the room. Sirius and James whipped around... and then, inevitably, Sirius... _pointed_ a finger at it. The volume turned up.

"Stop that," the Doctor hissed, reaching out and yanking his hand down, thereby proving, yet again, that the boy was real. Only, he couldn't be!

"Stop wha?" Sirius asked innocently.

"Stop... _pointing_ at things. It's unnerving."

"Sorry," Sirius answered, but he looked like he was trying hard not to laugh, rather than contrite, as he turned his attention back to the television. "I won't point, then." The channels started changing at random, no matter what the owner of the shop tried to do. The old lady was shaking the remote, pressing every button on it, to no avail.

"Stop that," the Doctor hissed. The telly stopped changing channels at random, fixing itself on another news programme. "What are you doing?"

"Skimming," Sirius replied. "As usual, there's nothing on... Except for the news." He cocked his head to the side in a doglike fashion. "Hold on... What's East Enders?"

"... the creature seemed to have been attacking the aliens, outside Westminster Station, earlier today, and has yet to move from Westminster Bridge. Troops have been dispatched to the area," yet another newscaster was saying, drawing all of their attentions. "Residents are advised to remain at home, and to avoid the Westminster area at all costs."

The Doctor stared at the screen, like every other patron. His face was as ashen as everyone else's, bar Sirius and James, who were watching the air shots with satisfaction.

"You did that." It wasn't a question.

"I did," James confirmed proudly, following every movement of the dragon with his eyes. "All by myself, mummy."

"That was a very dangerous thing to do," the Doctor said gravely.

"Come off it," Sirius said with a scoff. "It was _brilliant_. It herded all those Sontarans together, and nobody got hurt. Plus, it gave us time to give the Sontarans the slip, and distracted the masses. How can any of that be bad?"

"There are no dragons in this world," the Doctor answered. James, who was about to add something to Sirius' last, looked at him in shock.

"No dragons?" Sirius echoed, as he usually did when he didn't understand something. "How come?"

"I don't know, there just – aren't any," the Doctor told them impatiently. "You're drawing unnecessary attention to yourselves – and what if that thing hurts someone, eh?"

"It won't," said James confidently. "Keep your head on. It's not like it's a _real_ dragon – it'll turn back in about an hour."

"Turn back into _what_?"

"A... rusty bit of a ladder?"

"Alright..." the Doctor shook his head in confusion. "Are you _sure_ it won't hurt anyone?"

"Just the Sontarans, if they try to escape. But it can't eat them, so it'll just keep tossing them into that pile," James informed, pointing at the screen, where a large heap could be seen, made out of Sontarans, which the dragon was guarding, wings spread wide and crying out its challenge to the world at large. Sirius winced at the sharp noise it made.

"Oh. Well, in that case..." the Doctor cocked his head this way and that, considering the matter. Much as he now could infer these boys could do – from having read all Harry Potter books in one sitting, having been too impatient to wait for them to come out like everyone else – he could also tell they weren't the violent type. Not, he reminded himself, in the way of what they would consider violent, at any rate. He'd read about what they would call 'Dark Wizards', and he would call 'monsters', after all, and these two weren't of that sort. He could rely on them as well, which was a relief. He had been protected by them so far, after all. "Just don't go around making more of these," he told them. "The less people know of you, the better."

"Fine," James said, which made Sirius snort. "Oh stop it with the fine again, and focus, will you?"

"Fine," Sirius said, fighting to keep a straight face. James rolled his eyes.

"Don't mind him," he said. "He keeps doing that – any reference to 'fine', he'll crack up. I don't know why. Maybe it was _Torchwood_ ," he added, with a pointed look at Sirius, who lost his smile at once.

"Not funny," he muttered, digging into his burger again. James smirked, glancing at the screen.

"Oy... That's unfair."

"What?" asked Sirius.

"The mini-trolls," James told them. "They're turning blue... No wait, they're... disappearing!"

"Teleport," the Doctor informed. "This isn't good. They'll regroup and launch another attack soon. It's not like them to run like this."

"Yeah, they like their battles, don't they," Sirius agreed, thinking hard. How he could know about the Sontarans, though, was a mystery to the Doctor. "Tell me, have they tried to turn the Earth into a hatchery yet?"

"A... What?" the Doctor asked, taken off-guard. That seemed to be enough for Sirius. He shrugged dismissively.

"Oh, okay, then. Just checking which series we're at."

"You're not making any sense," the Doctor decided.

"He doesn't usually," James told him, watching Sirius shake his head and stick a finger in his ear. "Don't worry, you'll get used to it. He does a lot of strange things, you know."

"We should go," Sirius said suddenly.

"See what I tell you? Just when you're getting comfortable somewhere, he goes and-"

"No," Sirius interrupted James' little speech. "We need to go, James. They're coming again."

"But they let us go," James protested. "Aren't we off the hook?"

"Yeah, in _this_ time," Sirius said. "I don't think the other ones have got quite there yet."

"He's right," the Doctor decided. "The less people here see of you, the better. To the TARDIS," he ordered. "We can carry on there. It's safe."

There were no objections. James paid the bill, Sirius unlocked the television set, and they left the little pie shop.

Not a second after clearing the door, Sirius made a strange little noise, sort of like a chicken. The Doctor looked at him, startled, but after some more clucking, he fell to the ground, clutching his head.

"Torchwood," James gasped, scrambling to help Sirius up. "He always goes like a chicken when they're about to arrive – We need to get him out of here, now!"

"This way," the Doctor said, pointing at the far end of the street. "My TARDIS is not very far away."

"This is faster – grab hold, Doctor," James said, grabbing the Doctor by the wrist and Sirius by the foot... and disappeared into thin air, even as a Torchwood squadron, armed to the teeth, landed on the very spot they had just vanished from.

"Alright, find out what year it is," the commander of the squad snapped at his men. "And see if we can get in touch with Yvonne. And track that kid down! He can't have gone far!"

.

* * *

TBC.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: some much-needed explanations!


	4. The Limits of Fiction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter: The Doctor is disbelieving, Sirius is nerdy, James is bored (only level 2), and they reach a new destination

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Doctor Who or any of his incarnations, variations, characters and situations, aren't mine. They belong to the BBC. Harry Potter, any characters, situations, and so forth, aren't mine either, they belong to JK and associates. There's a mention of the Unbroken Universe, which sprouted from Robin4's gifted little head. Not making any money out of this, just having some fun with them all.
> 
> A/N: I haven't dedicated this fic yet, so I'll do that now. To my good friend Japonica, for getting me hooked on to Doctor Who. I loffs ya.

* * *

**Part Four: The Limits of Fiction**

* * *

"In here!" the Doctor shouted, kicking the door to the TARDIS open, and hauling Sirius inside. He'd passed out at some point, while they were 'apparating' as James called it; the Doctor remembered that what was they called teleportation, but he didn't think that it would be this dizzying.

James followed him inside, slamming the door shut with his foot and lying Sirius down on the TARDIS floor. There wasn't anything forthcoming from his end, though, and that in itself was odd.

"No comments?" asked the Doctor, looking up from his examination of the screen, where he had dashed after leaving Sirius in James' care. "Nothing about how it's bigger on the inside? No shock? Nothing?"

"Er." James blinked. "Over what?"

"You just walked into a _blue box_ ," the Doctor pointed out. "A... tiny blue box?" He looked at James expectantly.

"Yes, and...?" James asked, crouching over Sirius and arranging him so he was more comfortable. "You want me to feel shocked about that?"

"S'pose not," the Doctor replied, a little let down. These boys were rather unnerving; they just weren't amazed by things other humans were... But James had been going on about how perfectly common police boats were _awesome_. Of course, he remembered that in the wizarding world, things were bigger on the inside too, but...

He'd expected a little more enthusiasm over his TARDIS. He watched James fuss over Sirius instead, trying to make sense of them both. In a blinking, there was a pillow under Sirius' head, and a blanket over him. Out of _nowhere_!

"He's alright, just passed out –he'll wake up in a bit... and he'll be starving again," James informed, once he was satisfied with his handiwork. "I hope you have some food."

"What was that?" the Doctor asked, gesturing at the new items James had seemingly conjured out of _thin air_. Now _that_ was worthy of an explanation. Teleporting – or apparition, as they called it – he could understand, but this? There was no scientific explanation for it, was there?

"Torchwood, I told you. They follow us wherever—"

"Wherever you go, yeah I remember that," the Doctor interrupted, rubbing the side of his head. There was a definite communication barrier here. "That's not what I meant—" He gave up trying to figure James out.

Then he clapped his hands together, acquiring a skip in his step. If James was so hard to impress, then he'd be in for a treat. Let nobody say that the Doctor shied away from a challenge. Much less one he'd just set himself: he'd never before awed a wizard, but there was a first time for everything.

"Alright, first – we need to make finding you very hard for them," he told James, all business now. "Let's try... the past!" He started dashing about the TARDIS console, pressing buttons and levers and more, and moments later, they were off, in a very bumpy, jolty ride.

"Yeah, whatever," James said, patting Sirius' cheek to wake him up. "Can you take it out now? The... that... thing you were on about earlier when you were shining at him with your torch thing?"

"Vortex creator," the Doctor corrected. "And it's a sonic screwdriver, not a _torch_." He regarded James for a few moments, taking in his expression. "You don't know much about any of this, do you?"

"He's the um... sci-fi fan, not me. I like other things."

The Doctor conceded the point, and started looking Sirius over. There was one thing he'd missed before; there was a metal bracelet strapped around Sirius' right ankle.

"What's this, then?" the Doctor muttered, more to himself than to James. James heard him all the same.

"Ever since he escaped from Torchwood, he's had it," he informed. "Don't touch it; he goes bonkers if anyone does."

"How come?"

"I don't know, but nothing we've tried has worked for bugger all. He says it feels like burns his head up whenever we try to get it off, even the tiniest little spell... The most we could do was put a bit of a ward around it, so he doesn't bump it into anything. Sirius says that's what they're using to track us down."

"It's a power source..." the Doctor said, shining his screwdriver at it. "A compact one, but it's... it's what they're using to go after you... It's also an energy inhibitor of some kind. Sirius was right in that regard."

"I'll take your word for it. I wouldn't know about muggle contraptions."

"Why's that?"

"Dunno, I've just never been much interested in Muggles. They do have some pretty wicked stuff, mind. Some of the things we've seen..." James shook his head, grinning. "They're alright, Muggles."

"Well, why are you in the Muggle world, then?" asked the Doctor.

"We're sort of stranded here," was the answer. "If Sirius hadn't watched that telly box, I reckon we'd be rather lost, too." He snorted. "Only he could be excited over a programme on the telly," James continued, flopping down on the couch a few feet away. "One about time-travel, to boot. We do that. Our people, I mean. Wizards control that sort of thing without much trouble, so Muggle stories about how it could be... Dunno what there's to be excited over, really. He could as well have read 'Uric the Oddball's Travels Through Time' and gotten a bigger blast out of it."

The Doctor tried to understand this point of view. For him, time-travel had always been fascinating, but then, if he tallied what he knew of the Wizarding World with what he knew of the universe, he had to admit that James was right, in a way. If what he had seen in the Untempered Schism when he was a child was only a part of what could be seen, then... He did have to concede James' point.

"... He's always been fascinated by Muggles, though," James was saying, staring at the ceiling of the TARDIS as it rattled through the time-space continuum to their destination. "At first I thought it was to drive his parents up the wall, but then he got honestly hooked on all the things Muggles come up with, like skateboards, and rock music, and motorbikes, and so forth. He even got himself a telly box and set it up in his room, I don't know how he got _that_ past his mum." James pondered this mystery for a few moments, then shrugged it off. "He finds them, oh, I don't know, funny and witty and weird, and... _fascinating_. I do too, in a way, but I never really stopped to think, 'what if we take a muggle motorbike and make it fly?'. That's the sort of person he is," James said. "I s'pose that's why he understands stuff in this world loads better than me."

"Right..." the Doctor said, mulling it over and watching Sirius for a moment. "He's not doing anyone any good lying there, though," he decided. "Let me see what's wrong here..." Again, the Doctor shone his screwdriver all over Sirius. All he got for a response was a loud rumble of his stomach. "So tell me, how was it that he got taken by Torchwood?"

"It's weird," James said. "We went off on a holiday, about three months ago," he said. "But Sirius kept saying things weren't right, so we came back to London... A few times. He explains it better, I'm sorry."

"No, no, it's alright. Carry on."

"Well, it's a bit confusing."

The Doctor snorted. A bit didn't quite cover it.

"Sirius didn't like what we found when we got here, so he started making us go back and forth, until he saw something he liked. He was driving me mad, every time we arrived someplace all he wanted to do was leave again, saying we'd gotten it wrong. By then, I was right fed up with the whole deal. I wanted to go look for my friend, Lilian, but of course, he didn't want to. He calls her Miss Tottenham Court Road," James told the Doctor. "I went looking for her anyway, it was Christmas and I figured she wouldn't have a problem with us spending it with her, but when we found her, she was on a rooftop."

"Come again?" People on rooftops on Christmas? That sounded very familiar.

"Yeah, she was just... standing on top of the roof of a building, along with loads of other people. Everyone was going crazy," James chuckled. "I thought it was some weird sort of Muggle rite at first, but Sirius said it wasn't. He was happy all of a sudden, though, like something had gone his way... And then, well. I didn't want to leave her alone, because it looked like she _was_ going to jump. But Sirius," James ruffled his hair, heaving a sigh, "kept telling me that she _wasn't_ going to jump, that it was just a cheap bit of voodoo to scare the pants off the Prime Minister, whatever that meant – and that she'd be alright and to leave her alone. He kept going on about how something about it all was wrong, though..."

"Other than her and one third of the population standing on roofs about to jump off, you mean?"

"That's exactly what I said!" James exclaimed. "I thought he'd gone nutters, y'know. He kept going on about the... uh... whatchamacallems... the sick-a-rax or something."

"Sycorax," the Doctor corrected automatically. His mouth had gone very dry, and both his hearts were hammering in his chest. How could Sirius have known about that? _How_? And how could he have known about the blood control and what it could and couldn't do? AAAH! It was driving the Doctor insane.

"Yeah, you'd know better than me. Anyway, he said he remembered what was going on, and he'd go looking for you around the Powell Estate, because that's where you'd be spending Christmas..."

"How did he know that?" Not even he had known, back then. More to the point, how could Sirius have known before any of that ever happened? James didn't seem to have had a clue, so how could Sirius?

"He's like, your number one fan," James said matter-of-factly, which cleared up nothing in the Doctor's book. If anything, he was more confused by the second. How could Sirius even have known about him?

"If anyone would know, that would be him. He's got a very good memory too – never forgets anything he sees or reads. Not unless he's snockered off his feet. Anyway," James resumed his story, "we split up then. I didn't want to leave Lillian, so he went to look for you on his own. I didn't really think anything of it at first – we do that sometimes - and then Lillian woke up and didn't jump, just like Sirius had said... but he didn't come back." James bit his lip. "He didn't turn up the next day, either, and he wouldn't even answer his mirror. I got worried, I didn't get anything from him at first."

"What do you mean?"

"We've got this link of sorts," James explained, and the Doctor remembered Sirius saying something to that effect earlier. "So we usually know what's going on with the other. There's only a few times when it hasn't worked, because one of us was out of it. Sort of like now..."

"Right... But you did get something in the end?"

"Two days later," James confirmed. "I was going spare. I couldn't figure out where he was though... All I could see at first was this off-white room, and sometimes, this other one, like a dungeon. There were people in white and lots of tubes and weird contraptions flashing lights," James remembered. "There was also this blonde woman, she gave me the willies. He was scared of her too... Yvonne something or other, I think she was the one keeping him there. And I'd get disconnected images and feelings, like anger, and hurt, but no real thoughts, for the first week or so, and I couldn't really pinpoint where he was... He tried to get away a few times, but every time he fought them, I lost him again."

"Did he ever tell you what they were doing?"

"He hasn't talked much about it, just that they were doing this dissecting thing, and testing him for something, and questioning him about, well, you."

"About _me_?"

"Yes," a voice said from the floor. James and the Doctor looked down, to see Sirius was awake. "They wanted to know how I came by your hand."

"My... my _hand_?"

Sirius pointed at it, floating around in its jar next to the heart of the TARDIS.

"Yes, do you have anything to eat?" he sat up and tossed the blanket aside, patting himself down and extracting an ice cream cone when all that was forthcoming from the Doctor was an enquiring look. "I was looking for you, because I figured we needed a time-travel expert. And as I was walking down this street, this severed hand fell on my head."

"The Sycorax chopped it off—" the Doctor started, but didn't get much further in his explanations.

"That's the one," Sirius confirmed. "It knocked me over and sent me flying – a good thing, too, because the other thing that fell from the sky was a sword. It was this huge double-edged affair..." Sirius snorted. "And I figured I'd best get out of the way. I did, just before this Sycorax splattered all across the street, on the very spot I'd been standing."

"Whoops, my bad. Sorry about that."

"It's okay, I always wondered where he'd ended up after you tossed him over the edge of that ship," Sirius said. "I was a bit out of sorts then, and people came rushing at me almost at once... And then Torchwood showed up. That madwoman, Yvonne Hartmann. You've met her, right?"

"Just last summer," the Doctor confirmed. "What with her?"

"She's the one who stuck me in that cage," Sirius said. "I tried to get away, of course, but she seemed to be convinced I was travelling with you, seeing as I had your hand and everything."

"...And she got time-travel readings, because you're also a time-traveller," the Doctor said, clapping a hand to his forehead. "But... I'm sure that's not all she got, was it?"

"I guess she figured out I had magic," Sirius nodded, polishing off his cornetto and rummaging in his pockets again. "She was trying to extract it, but of course she couldn't, the stupid old cow. And then, well, they ran out of things to do with me, I reckon. I can't remember half of what went on there at first, but after a while they let me stay awake a bit longer every time. Even gave me stuff to read and all, so I wouldn't get bored, I s'pose. It was as if they were waiting for something. And then one day I had the chance to escape, so I did. But they always followed."

"That... makes no sense at all. Alright, that's enough," the Doctor said in a final tone. "I can't understand half of what you're telling me, and that won't do. Take it from the top, you two, and don't spare any details, got it?"

"Fine—Er, alright," James agreed, glancing at Sirius in annoyance and receiving a smirk in return. "We found a Time-Turner, right," he started.

"Time-Turner?" the Doctor echoed, cocking his head to the side.

"Yeah, it's a time-travel device," Sirius explained, fishing a bottle of cranberry juice out of his pocket. " _Just_ for time-travel, not for inter-dimensional travel or anything. Had to clear that up before he asked," he told James for an explanation. The Doctor, who had opened his mouth to ask that very thing, shut it again with a snap.

"Right," James told him, a little miffed at being cut off this early in his tale. " _I'm_ telling the story, so if you'll shut your trap."

"Sorry," Sirius said.

"Moving on. We found it, but it was cracked."

"So we fixed it," Sirius threw in, now chewing on a pie.

" _Shut_ it. Yes, we fixed it," James said. "And we tested it..."

"I wonder why I'm not surprised," the Doctor commented musingly, propping his head up on one hand, and twiddling some dials on the TARDIS console with the other. James and Sirius grinned. "Where did you go?"

"To the past," answered James. "We met the Founders while they were building Hogwarts. It was pretty wicked, so we thought, 'let's do that again, eh?'"

"Still not surprised..."

"We went to the future, and so on," James said, shrugging. "We had the idea of returning like, five minutes after we left when we'd had enough."

"But you never did get enough of it," the Doctor supplied knowingly.

"Pshaw, of course not."

"So what happened? You're clearly not just out of your _time_ , you're out of your world as well. And possibly your minds too."

"Oh, look at him, he worked it out," Sirius told James, and did he sound _proud_? "All on his own, too."

"He wouldn't have if you hadn't given him every single clue for it. _Anyone_ could have done it by now."

"Even Miss Marble Arch?" Sirius asked shrewdly, leaning against the railing of the TARDIS and looking around with a smirk. This was wicked, really. He'd always wanted to be on this ship...

"Oh, _shut it_."

"Who's Miss Marble Arch?"

"A girl he hooked up with in London," Sirius answered, snickering. "Thick as a brick, that one. And not really well-endowed either. Oh, if the Missus _ever_ finds out... She'll have a field day."

"She _won't_ ," James said confidently. "Because I won't tell her, and you won't either."

"That's going to cost you," Sirius answered evilly. "Dearly. And what about Miss Tottenham Court Road? Or Miss Glastonbury Festival, 1989? Can I tell the Missus about _them_?"

"We're not even married! Hell, we're not even _dating_ yet! None of those count for anything!"

"Ah, but you _will_ , and then they'll count for..." Sirius trailed off, his dreamy look giving way to something else, something far less happy and far more grave. He heaved a sigh. "Alright, I won't tell."

James, though, didn't seem fazed.

"Too right you won't. And if you ever do, just wait until I find out you actually do get a _Missus_ , and then _she_ can hear all about _your_ exploits."

"What does any of this have to do with you being here?" the Doctor asked, folding his hands on the tabletop and yanking them back to the present.

"Everything," Sirius answered, as if his argument with James had never been. "We couldn't just limit ourselves to hopping around Hogwarts forever, right... That got old pretty quick."

"So we went to London," James finished for him. "1994."

"And he hooked up with Miss Marble Arch," Sirius provided. "At a muggle pub. I got bored..."

"Because he wasn't getting any," James threw in, smirking.

"I didn't feel like _getting any_ , not with the likes of her," Sirius muttered. "I, have my standards, which you pointedly _lack_. I think it's your short-sightedness. Anyway, I started seeing all these posters all over the place. Wanted posters. With my picture on them."

"A hugely unflattering picture," James supplied, but his tone was no longer mocking, it was bracing. "Adding insult to injury, as it were."

"Wanted posters... That would be... from when you escaped Azkaban, am I right?"

"Yeah," Sirius answered, picking at his pie for a little bit before giving himself a shake and resuming his tale. "I didn't quite believe it, so I poked around some... I found out what happened, er. Will happen. Or whatever... It wasn't right, any of it."

"You _didn't_." The Doctor had suddenly realised what these two were getting at. He gaped at them, aghast. Terrible didn't cover what they had done. Were still doing.

"I _did_ , what did you expect?" Sirius shot back. "I learned the whole story, but... I couldn't believe it. I mean, me, a _mass-murderer_? Come off it. I wouldn't _ever_ do something like that. Not. Ever!" How Sirius had gone from defeated to full-blown furious was beyond the Doctor. It reminded him a little bit of himself; there were some things you simply couldn't take in stride.

"I believe you," he said, honestly.

"Much less kill _him_ , even if he's a right pest sometimes," Sirius said warningly, now on his feet and pointing at the Doctor. The Doctor nodded, meeting his eyes straight on.

"I _know_ you wouldn't. Ever. Not even if he is a pest."

"Oy," James protested. "I'm right here!"

"You are, but that's neither here nor there," Sirius said, deflating and sitting back down, seemingly appeased. "I returned to where James was, because I couldn't just leave him there with Miss _Marble Arch_ , now could I."

"He told me everything, and of course I didn't believe it, so we..."

"Went further into the future. I'd read that James had had a son, and that he was considered the world's hope in 1994..."

"Harry," James supplied. "I bet Lily picked that name."

"Yeah, I know about him." The Doctor sighed. They had made a royal mess, to end up here... "But that still doesn't explain why you're—"

"Wait for it," Sirius told him, raising his eyebrows in warning. "So we went into the future, met this kid of James'..." He rolled his eyes, exasperated. "A right moron, that one."

"He kept trying to send us back," James said, rolling his eyes as well. "Said things were better off the way they were, and didn't even want us to meet his own kids."

"No wonder," Sirius said, snorting. "After naming them things like Albus _Severus_? Mate, your kid's got problems. He'll be naming them after house-elves and pet owls next. What was it he was considering for his fourth, Dobby Hedwig?" He cracked up.

"No kidding." James ruffled his untidy hair, joining in Sirius' laughter. "There was no way we were standing for any of that, you know. And, as he wasn't going to help us, we decided to help ourselves."

"Yeah, I know the feeling." The Doctor wasn't staring at them like they'd had grown an extra set of eyes each anymore. He knew what they were talking about, he'd done much the same thing during the Time War; he'd gone back and forth for years, trying to find a solution to it, only to realise what the only option to end it entailed...

"So we went back and forth," Sirius continued, echoing what was on the Doctor's mind. "We watched events as they unfolded. Tried to change them back... And we succeeded too, a few times."

"But things always ended up the same," James said, frustrated. "Every time, I ended up copping it, and he ended up getting the blame for it."

"I was always too late," Sirius told the Doctor. "Every time. Seconds too late, minutes..."

"I don't mind it, mate. You tried to the last, every time."

"Maybe, but..." Sirius shook his head. "It's not fair all the same."

"What events were you trying to change?" The Doctor asked abruptly.

"Wha?"

"See, that's the thing. Depending on what you change, you can change some minor future trait, or the entire universe. _What_ were you trying to change?"

"Him dying, of course," Sirius said, jabbing a finger at James.

"And him getting the blame for it," James added, jabbing a finger at Sirius.

"You didn't want to, oh I don't know, end the war or something?" the Doctor asked. They shook their heads.

"Not anymore. That's something that can't be helped," James answered. "Trust us, we checked."

"Double-checked."

"Triple-checked," James corrected.

"Yeah," Sirius nodded, before the Doctor could try and recall every single word from what he'd read of the Harry Potter series. "The war was a necessary evil. Still is, and always will be. So we didn't mess with _that_ ," he added. "All we wanted was to change something minor, all things considered."

"How can you say it's minor?" the Doctor erupted. "You two, alive and free when originally you were _dead and locked up_? That could change everything!"

"Sort of, but not quite," Sirius said firmly. "If James lives, he can train Harry up to fight the war, and not become a total idiot and name his kids something completely stupid. We could have carried on fighting, we'd help things be different!"

"But... James has to die for Harry to survive," the Doctor said slowly.

"No, all Harry needs to do is become a _horcrux_ to become the Chosen One." James corrected. "We saw the whole thing, you know. We know what needs to happen and what could be changed, we're not _that_ dim."

"And for Harry to become a horcrux, it isn't necessary for James to die. Not even Lily would have to," Sirius said. "We checked, Voldemort had killed three people before them, his soul was completely cracked before he even killed James. See, in everyone's eyes, it's him and Lily who end the war, but in the end, they were just collateral damage. We figured it out. The blood magic was put in place before they even went into hiding, Harry would have rebounded that Killing Curse even without them dying."

"How do you know that?"

"Because we did it," Sirius replied. "We snuck in, and cast the spell."

"And it worked," James added.

"What happened after that?"

"In that timeline, James becomes Minister for Magic," Sirius answers. "The war ends, without Harry even being all that much in the picture."

"How's that happen?"

"Well, for one I don't let Peter take my place as Secret Keeper," Sirius said. "I end up as head of the Department for Magical Law Enforcement, go figure... And in the end, we do Voldemort in, in an epic battle stuffed full of heroic deeds."

"Hang on," the Doctor said, frowning deeply. "I think I read something about that once... But that was an alternate universe piece of... _fan fiction_!"

"Better than the real thing," Sirius maintained, and James nodded, though he seemed to be itching to ask what in the world 'fan fiction' was.

"You changed the course of _history_!"

"Yeah, well... Personally I reckon we just widened the list of options," Sirius answered. "We have yet to live through them, and see what comes of it."

"Right... How did you come to be _here_ , then?" Despite himself, the Doctor was hooked. He gave them a winning smile. "Oh, _do tell_."

"We don't know." It was James who had uttered those entirely too disappointing words.

" _What_?"

"Well, we don't. Not exactly. We decided we wanted a break from it all at some point. Take some time off from changing things, as it were."

"It was very frustrating," James pitched in. "Nothing we were doing was working out the way we wanted it to..."

"So we went into the future, but something happened. Something that wasn't really supposed to happen. It felt... _feels_ wrong, somehow."

"In which way?"

"It all started with... Miss Tottenham Court Road," Sirius told him. "James was floored... With... sort of good enough reason, this time," he conceded.

"Good enough reason?"

"Yes," James interrupted the Doctor's baffled comments. "She's _fit_ , alright?" The Doctor watched him for a moment, completely impassive. " _I like her_!"

"You would," Sirius shook his head, snickering.

" _And_?"

"And she likes her telly shows," Sirius replied, leaning back on the railing. "See, we were stuck in a time loop, I know that now. Every time we changed something, it always boiled down to the same situations repeating themselves. In the end, no matter what we tried, the same things always happened."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, we did create a couple of alternate realities," Sirius said. "Worlds and worlds, with so many possibilities playing out. But our timeline, _ours_ , that is, James' and mine, never changed – he always died, I was always too late... _Every_ _time_."

"Fixed points in time," the Doctor breathed.

"Yeah, exactly."

"When did you figure it out?"

"When I recharged the time-turner," Sirius answered. "Sands of Time aren't forever; they run out. And the Department of Mysteries stopped making them. They cancelled time research, because of the war. There was a battle in 1996, and during that, the Time Room got smashed. Every last time-turner was either destroyed or vanished, and as far as we know, they didn't make them anymore after."

"How do you know that?"

"Because I was there," Sirius answered. "We both were. There was this thing happening while everyone was fighting in the Death Chamber, you'd have liked it. Everyone else was busy getting their arses handed to them, so we went into the Time Room, to nick the Sands of Time while nobody was looking. Only, it was...stuck in this whirlwind. Like a tornado, but made of space and time."

"It was very pretty to look at, but it was eating everything up," James supplied, smiling reminiscently. "Sort of like Sirius in a full pantry."

"A time-space continuum rip caused by all those timelines converging in on each other simultaneously, creating a vortex... A universal rip vortex?!" The Doctor all but jumped to his feet, then sat back down, ignoring James' gob-smacked, wide-eyed expression, and Sirius' awed one.

" _Oh_!" He looked at them, realising everything, connecting the dots at _last_. His hands flew to his hair, his eyes were wide as saucers. "A rip vortex, creating a _huge_ space and time _paradox_! I knew that book was _missing_ something, the fifth book – all those time-turners, all those _timelines_ being studied as one! It would have melted not just one universe, but—"

"All of them, yeah we know."

"Yeah, that. We put it in an unbreakable jar. It settled down after a while, and we had Sands of Time to last us a while."

" _What_?" the Doctor stared. "You put a universal, inter-temporal and inter-dimensional _paradox_ in a _jar_?!"

"Yep." Sirius and James grinned at him.

"You saved the universe!"

"We're _that_ good on a bad day."

"We found our time-turner then too. Looking exactly the way it did when we found it in the forest, with that little crack down the middle. It vanished, likely into our time, into the forest. We'd come full circle," Sirius said next.

"That's when he realised we needed to change tactics," James added. "He's dead clever, our Sirius." Sirius pretended to blush.

"What do you mean?"

"We'd created worlds, universes, alternate realities, whatever," Sirius told the Doctor. "Never on purpose, but... somehow, we never affected our own timeline. And when we went to get the Sands of Time, the only place and time we _could_ go to was... the time of my death. To the moment I died, _after_ escaping Azkaban, _after_ him dying. Nothing had changed. Not for us. All we did was widen the scope of possible realities, but we – as in him and me – won't likely ever get to see that."

"Oh." That must have been a very low blow for them.

"Yeah. That was when," Sirius went on, more brightly, "when we'd decided to take a break from it all and go to Oz..."

"…Oz."

"Yes, Dorothy. Oz." Sirius said, smiling widely. "Australia. We figured that, if we couldn't change our futures, well... Then we could at least enjoy some things in life. Like getting to see the entire world. Australia was our first stop."

"We learned surfing there, it's brilliant," James added. "So many scantily-clad girls..."

"Mmm, yes, I've been," said the Doctor reminiscently.

"Oh, give it a rest," Sirius said in a bored drawl. James smacked him upside the head.

"Says Mr. Look At Me, I'm A Party Animal," he groused. "What about Miss Melbourne, 2007, eh?"

"And her friends..." Sirius grinned. "We should go back there sometime."

"Wait just a tick – how _long_ have you two been going at this?"

"Oh... some three, four years, give or take," James answered, after looking at Sirius for answers and getting a shrug in response.

"So you started on this whole trip when you were what, twelve? Thirteen?"

"No, sixteen," Sirius answered. "We hopped back to see my uncle Alfie at one point, when we decided to try and change the future. Before he died, I mean. He worked for the Ministry, knew everything there was to know about time-travel..."

"And he wouldn't rat on us," James pointed out. "He's always helped us with stuff, like Occlumency, Apparition, Potions homework... Dating... Good old Alfie." He smirked. "Sirius met the Missus there."

"She's _not_ my Missus," Sirius countered, grimacing. "I barely know her!"

"And yet, you were drooling and making a fool of yourself every time you saw her. Oh Nina McAlpin, how I _adore_ you," James chortled, batting his eyes at Sirius, who threw his empty bottle at his head. James dodged it with a laugh.

"Oy! No littering the TARDIS!" the Doctor snapped. Startled, Sirius summoned his bottle back. James put the rock he was about to lob at Sirius back into his pocket.

"Sorry, sheesh. Anyway, Uncle Alfie put this anti-aging spell on us. For all purposes, we're still living the very same day we left."

"So you'll never grow old?" the Doctor eyed them with something akin to disgust.

"You can talk," Sirius replied. "You're over 900, and just _look_ at you."

"I'm a _Time-lord_!" the Doctor yelled at him. The nerve of him! "I _regenerate_! That's what I do!"

"And we're _wizards_!" Sirius yelled back. "We do magic! That's what _we_ do!"

They glared at each other for a few seconds. Then, as if on cue, they both let out a snort, which soon grew into a chuckle, and from there bubbled up to roaring laughter.

"Anyway, the spell is set to be cancelled the minute we land in our time again," James informed, looking at his best friend and Barty's look-alike like they'd gone mad.

"So you could carry on like this for how long, exactly?"

"Forever," James said cheerfully. "Or rather, for as long as the Sands of Time last. Or until we're good and ready to go back. Which, incidentally, _will_ take a while."

"Alright," the Doctor relented, conceding defeat. "Back to your story, then... You went to Australia to learn how to surf..."

"Amongst other things," James threw in.

"And we would have stayed longer, but something had gone wrong. Something wasn't right. So we went to London again, and what do we see the second we arrive? Cybermen, trying to take over the world!"

"What."

"Yeah," Sirius said, not bothering to hide his excitement. "So I thought, let's hop back a little, just a bit, and oho! We get to see shop window _dummies_ , moving all about London, shooting at people."

"What. _How_?"

"We got yanked sideways along the way, from that beachfront party. I thought we were just drunk, but-"

"No," the Doctor said impatiently. "How do _you_ know about _Cybermen_?"

"Well, you know how in this world, _we're_ book characters?" Sirius asked sweetly.

"Yeah..."

"You're a fictional character in ours. Doctor Who."

"Doctor... _What_?"

"No, Doctor _Who_."

"He's right. He watched the programme that time we went to see Ms. Tottenham Court Road..."

"Oh, not her again!" the Doctor wailed.

"You sound just like him," James said reproachfully, nodding at Sirius, who was snickering and trying to hide it. " _I like her, alright?!_ "

"Yeah, well. More freedom to you and all that," Sirius said dismissively. "Anyhow, she had this contraption hooked to her telly box thing," he told the Doctor. "And she had lots of little disk things that go in it, and you can watch this programme called Doctor Who. Series after series," Sirius pressed on. "She was a fan. And as I was stuck waiting for Mr. Honey, Let Me Show You What I Learned On My Travels here, I watched every single one. Well," he amended, "I might have missed a bit here and there when it got boring, but all things considered, I don't reckon I skipped over all that much... Then I even went to 2010, to see that Christmas Special everyone was in a tiz over."

"Without me," James groused.

"You were busy _shagging_!"

"You _went off without me_!"

"I – was – _BORED_!"

"Back to the story, if you please?"

"Oh, yes." Sirius said, turning back to the Doctor. "I know everything there is to know about you, Doctor, up until the end of the series, at least. Just like you know everything there is to know about us. Down to _our_ deaths."

"You're _fictional characters_!" the Doctor shouted.

" _So are you_!" Sirius shouted back. "In _our_ world, your life is a _television programme_. It shows on BBC One! I started watching it when I was _four_. The effects have improved somewhat since then, I'll grant you that, but the fact remains..."

The Doctor was sputtering, shaking his head.

"There's even a Doctor Who museum in Cardiff," Sirius told him. "We went like, three times."

"He's always been odd," James provided for an explanation.

"Impossible."

"No, really. He's _strange_."

"Your _death_ ," Sirius said loudly, "That was _televised_. Christmas and New Year's special! Everyone was watching, too. The actor who plays you is filthy rich, mate. Then again, he looks just like Barty Crouch, Jr. too..."

"No. That _can_ 't be."

"Oh? So _we_ get to be fictional, but you don't? That's a bit rich. What _do_ you know about us, anyway?" Sirius pressed on. "Only what is in your stupid _books_. Oh, _I've read them_ ," he said, laughing without humour and looking rather crazed. "All _seven_ of them, which is just about the only good thing that came from being stuck in that cage in Torchwood. And you know who gave me the idea of doing that? _YOU DID_!"

" _What_?!"

"In series three, there's a mention of Harry Potter. I thought it odd at first, chalked it down to Harry being famous even amongst the Muggles, like a legend of sorts—but then you _actually_ even say a spell... And then, _you_ told Martha Jones you cried with Book Seven." Sirius shot back. "I thought it was lousy, myself... Not as bad as Book Six, though. I nearly cried too, but only because it was so abysmally _bad_!"

The TARDIS gave a lurch just then, interrupting Sirius' tirade by tossing them all every which way across the deck. To Sirius, it was as if the ship was giving him her opinion on matters too. A Potter fan, apparently...

Then, just as Sirius was considering doing something about that shaking, the TARDIS came to a halt.

Wherever it was they had been going, they had just arrived.

.

* * *

TBC, R&R and all that jazz.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter: We find out where the TARDIS landed, the Doctor is bemused, James proves he has seen at least one Muggle film, and Sirius is hungry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Not mine, just borrowing the characters.

* * *

**Part Five: Doing the Time-Warp**

* * *

 

"Fiction?" The Doctor asked, watching the console of the TARDIS. But it was only to avoid looking at Sirius, who, as it happened, was standing right next to him, looking in at the screen over his shoulder.

"Fiction." Sirius confirmed. The TARDIS had come to a spinning halt mere moments earlier, and it was as though his heated tirade had never been, completely forgotten in the face of what he was doing now. Silver grey eyes scanning their surroundings on the screen, he was absorbed in the scenery. The screen showed a medieval town, something that reminded him rather strongly of Monty Python and the Holy Grail.

_Hmm._

He would have to watch that film again.

"Fiction." the Doctor deadpanned once more. Then, "It doesn't sound right."

"Try 'Sci-fi' character then," Sirius mumbled, now poking about the far end of the console and flicking his fingers at the little bell that went ' _ding_ '.

"Fiction. Feeec-shun. Fiction, ." The Doctor blew some hair out of his eyes. He let out a slow breath. " _Fiction_."

James looked at the Doctor with disinterest, then at Sirius and tapped the side of his head.

"I hope his crazy isn't contagious."

Sirius snickered, turning a handwheel a couple of times.

" _When_ are we, then?" asked James.

"Middle Ages sometime," Sirius answered, while in the background, the Doctor carried on trying the word 'fiction' in all its forms and inflections. Needless to say, there weren't many of them.

"Ooh. I wipe my nose at you!" said James happily.

"You _animal food-trough wiperrr_!" he and Sirius chorused.

"We're... fictional. _Both_ of us?" the Doctor had, apparently, had enough of a one-word vocabulary and was trying more words on for size.

"All three of us," James corrected. He was lounging on the sofa, dangling a foot over the armrest and helping himself to some of the snacks Sirius had brought along. He already knew what a screen was – namely, _not_ a portable window Muggles used to look outside, but something that played _films_ and _telly programmes_ , and, in the case of the TARDIS screen, it also showed random figures and constellations and all manner of things. James believed that was enough to know, really, and Sirius had shown him loads about the Muggle world of late. Enough to make him feel very knowledgeable about Muggle things, and not remotely interested in learning any more just yet.

However hooked Sirius seemed to be with the screen and levers and buttons surrounding the console thingy, James believed – as he had said over and over for the past five minutes, too – that checking out their surroundings would be _loads_ more interesting if they actually stepped _out_ of the Doctor's – though he still figured as Barty in his mind – magical box thing. What James wanted, quite simply, was something to do that wasn't, well, serious. His fun meter was low, and that was a very bad thing to happen. Period.

Barty's stunt double seemed rather reluctant to do so, however, and Sirius was all over the screen thing, like it was all the rage, pressing buttons and pushing levers here and there, to see what would happen. And James was starting to grow... _beyond_ bored.

Which was, as everyone in his Hogwarts – and, as he had learned, a fair percentage of other, parallel and alternate universes' populations – knew, a very dangerous and terrible thing to happen. Not that Sirius, who knew better than _anyone_ how dangerous and terrible a very bored James could prove to be, and thus, should know better than _anyone_ that James needed some entertainment twenty-odd minutes ago, gave a right jot about it. Then again, Sirius _had_ just woken up from his little Torchwood incident, so James felt a little bit more lenient about the matter. He'd wait another five minutes before unleashing his famed Potter Boredom Fit.

He'd even be as kind as to only make it a Grade Two Potter Boredom Fit. This situation was deserving at least of a Grade Five.

The Doctor heaved a sigh, scrubbing his hands down his face and watching Sirius poking at the TARDIS. It wouldn't last, however, he knew; he had just forbidden Sirius to eat anywhere near the console, and that meant he had already gone without food for a good ten minutes.

" _Don't_. Don't push that green one," he warned, and Sirius' finger, which had been hovering over the big green button for the past couple of seconds, stopped mid-movement. "No, really," the Doctor assured him. "I _mean it_. Don't push the green one."

Sirius withdrew his hand. It was remarkable, really, how he was walking about again so soon after a neural storm – because what _else_ could it have been that knocked him out like that, outside that shop earlier? Then again, the Doctor doubted anyone _normal_ –anyone _possible_ , he would say – would have clucked like a rooster before being used as a portal by a Torchwood squadron from another _time_. Anyone else would have been killed by that alone; and how long had this been going on? Weeks?

"What's it do?" Sirius asked. He was visibly fascinated with what he termed 'Muggle Tech', although the Doctor didn't like the term. He was no Muggle, what the hell.

"It's a time-space switch," the Doctor said. " _Don't_ touch it." Again, Sirius withdrew his hand, and focused his attention on the typewriter instead. The Doctor watched him and James for a few moments, leaning against the TARDIS console.

For someone like him, the last living member of a race who had controlled the very fabric of _reality_ , thinking of himself as a piece of _fiction_ was a very hard thing to do. Harder than it seemed to be for Sirius and James, who had accepted it without much trouble, it seemed.

Sure, they didn't seem to be _happy_ with the fact that they were book characters here, exactly, but they didn't seem to mind it half as much as the Doctor did, accepting with a certain sort of instinctive understanding that he lacked, that they couldn't exist in every universe, not physically at least.

Then again, they belonged to a realm the Time-lords did not; a world of magic, where _anything_ was possible, where the only limits to what anyone could do were set by how much imagination they could pour into something... And these two were well-supplied with endless creativity and imagination. And brains. And courage. A dangerous combination, as the Doctor was coming to realise.

"Fiction... _Gah_."

"Yep," James said in a bored drawl, sighing as he ruffled his hair.

"But here, we're all real. All of us. And I know what it means now," Sirius said, finally leaving the screen and the TARDIS and the console alone. "That's why we need your help. Well, amongst other things."

"What's that, then?" asked the Doctor, resolving to figure out this conundrum later.

"I read the books, and what do I find? Everything we tried to change but _can't_ , _everything_ that's _fixed in time for us_ , is what's in those ruddy _books_. Nothing else." Sirius paused, waiting for the Doctor – and James – to hold their breaths. They did, so he carried on. "So, I'm sure we can use that to our advantage."

"... _How_?"

"I just told you!" Sirius said, looking from one to the other. "Don't you see it?"

"Not really, no," James muttered, examining his fingernails.

"See what?"

"It's the specs," Sirius muttered. "Blind as bats, you are. Both of you."

"What's wrong with my specs now?" the Doctor asked, taking them off and looking at them. "They're brainy, and—"

" _Explain_! _Explain_! The wizard-boy will _ex-plaiiin_!" James demanded, in a fair imitation of a Dalek. The Doctor looked at him in shock, but Sirius and James just laughed.

"I just _did_ ," Sirius replied, looking like he couldn't believe how dim they were. "We have access to the _books_ , and I remember the _programme_ ," he said slowly and as clearly as he could, rather than bang his head against one of the nearby pillars of the TARDIS. He'd done that before, against a wall, maybe, rather than a time-space-ship, and it had only given him a headache; he couldn't see how it would be very different here. "Don't you see? Those are all things that _have_ to happen. Anything _outside_ the books or the Doctor's programme is _changeable_." He paused for a greater effect, watching them stare at him. He flashed them an encouraging grin. "Get it now?"

"Not really."

Sirius seemed quite ready to run into the wall. He walked up and down the deck, hands buried deep in his pockets. He would have to use the sci-fi-ish approach, apparently the Doctor didn't understand things when they were laid out simply like he just had. Weird, how that worked out.

"There's more to the war in our universe than just Voldemort wanting to take over the world, it's sort of like a fixed point, when two major timelines cross," he said after pondering the matter for a few moments. "It's a turning point in _all_ timelines, separating contrary options. There are two major outcomes, nothing else. In one, the Light wins. In the other, the Dark does. Then, there are a myriad other possibilities of either option working out, stuck in between. Some worlds get affected directly, like ours – because our world is one of the main timelines, where either the Dark or the Light can win and there's simply no in-between. Other realities don't get directly affected, like this one, where the war is waged in other ways, and our story is just a novel... That's why for _us_ , the war is _real_ , and for _you_ it's just a tear-jerking story in a best-selling book series."

"And films," James threw in.

"Several universes are created. Parallel worlds, completely different outcomes," the Doctor said musingly, flopping down next to James. "Yeah, I hear you."

James only blinked at that, pulling a grasscake out of his pocket. He had been very close to understanding what Sirius was on about before he went and popped the words "reality" and "universes" and "turning points" into the mix. He chewed on his cake, wondering where he could get more once he ran out of these. Muggles didn't bake grasscakes, only his mum did. And some Hogwarts elves.

"I know what sort of things will happen to you, because in our world, the only way your story exists is in that telly show," Sirius was saying to the Doctor, "and you know what happens to us, because you've read the books. But, we're together in this world, we're all _real_ here. That means, and correct me if I'm wrong, although I _know_ I'm not, that there's a rip in time and space. And that's not good, James, pay attention."

"But I've heard it all before," James muttered around his grasscake. "It's not like it's new to me."

"We need to join up and seal the rip between universes," Sirius said, replying to James' last with a roll of his eyes. "We caused it, so it's only fair we fix it, right? If James and I don't get back to our universe by the time we have to be back... everything would fall apart, right? Am I right? Oh, I know I'm right. I _am_ right, aren't I?"

"All worlds would collapse in on themselves... They would— _No_!" The Doctor jumped to his feet, hands flying to his hair to ruffle it up excitedly, in a way Sirius had only seen James do it. "But yes! Oh, that's _big_! Bigger than big, that's _huge_!" the Doctor exclaimed, eyes wide as saucers. "The universes would all mix with one another!" Now, as he turned to look at Sirius, he was impressed.

It was a bit more than that, actually. Somehow, these two had worked out that all universes were blending together and had sought him out for help with that, leaving their own universe behind without a second thought, and plunging into a place they did not belong to, doing something that would have terrified the Doctor himself; fear, however, didn't seem to figure in their vocabulary. Not as the crippling sensation it was for anyone else, at any rate. For them, feeling fear seemed to be a warning that something might, perhaps, go wrong, but little else.

"The very stuff reality is made of would change, _everywhere_. But _no_. It's... Impossible."

"Oh, don't go on about that _again_!" James exclaimed, frustrated. Sirius decided the time was ripe for headbutting one of the nearby columns, so he went and did just that. James found he was close to joining in.

For the past two hours, they had been explaining. And, James figured, Sirius had provided one _hell_ of an explanation.

Much better than the one James himself got to hear, at any rate. Now, Sirius _knew_ what was going on. Back then, he'd been _speculating_ , and James had had to sit through _all_ of his theories – the possible ones, the plausible ones, and the plain bonkers ones. For days and days, while they looked across time and London for the Doctor's magical boxy thing, and had not a shred of fun. Then he'd had to go through the whole thing again, while Sirius was remembering things after he'd been nicked by Torchwood (Might the Gods of Quidditch squish the lot of them). There was a world of difference, but what was the Doctor doing, even after Sirius' award-winning presentation? He was _still_ refusing to accept it!

" _No_... It's impossible that you two would have been capable of causing the breach," the Doctor clarified, now pacing up and down the TARDIS like a madman. "How _did_ you get here?"

"We just told you—" James said, a hint of reproach in his tone, but it was sort of lost in the wave of relief that was washing over him. Perhaps, with luck, the explanations would be over and they could get to the exploring bit. It wasn't as if they had endless time on their hands, after all. Torchwood usually showed up after six to eight hours, and they'd already wasted some of that rather limited time before Sirius conked out again and they had to leave.

James huffed to himself. After hopping around the 21st century over and over in Sirius' mad goose chase for weeks, getting that scare when Sirius was captured, and then having to _run_ from Torchwood rather than kick their collective backsides, he deserved some proper action.

Even if it was the Middle Ages.

"We went to London, as I said... the Time-Turner was suddenly doing apparition too. Er. Teleport...ation?" Sirius was saying, all business and not remotely interested in Middle-Agean exploration. The Doctor nodded, gesturing for him to carry on, even as James threw his head back with a very loud, warning sigh. "You could just tell it where and when you wanted to go all of a sudden... At first, we thought we'd just gotten good at using it, but it felt wrong to me."

"And then that once we got sucked in sideways," James provided, trying another vein. Maybe, if he helped out here, they'd get a good look at their surroundings, at least. "That's when you first said something had gone wrong, right, Sirius? That was the first time."

"True," Sirius said, thinking hard. "We landed near this park, where these shadows were turning into Cybermen. Ghost shift, they called it. People were expecting their lost grannies to show, but instead they were getting these robot things."

"He knew what was going on at once," James said proudly. "The best memory in the world, that's what he's got." Sirius shrugged, shaking his head. "Okay, so maybe you've been forgetting things a bit more lately, but it's all the stress. Maybe you'll remember better if we go for a walk out there?"

"So we hopped back, to, y'know, make sure where we were," Sirius said, blanking James completely. He gave up. "We landed near a shopping centre, and people were running wild too. Because the shop window dummies were shooting at people. So then..."

"We went to the London Eye, and saw you," James supplied grudgingly.

"With your other face," Sirius pointed out. "And Rose Tyler."

"Rose..." the Doctor breathed. "Oh! _Rose_! Oh no..."

"Oh, _yes_." Sirius answered. His eyes were fixed on the Doctor's, watching him work it out, looking like he'd implode if he didn't get to say something soon to set him right.

"Oh, _what_?" James asked, completely lost once again, and exasperated about it.

"He's figured it out! The breach isn't just our world and his. It's _all_ worlds."

"Rose... is in a parallel universe. If that one mixes with this one..."

"It's already happening," Sirius countered at once. Only now did James appreciate how similar to the Doctor he got when he was excited about something. Hmm. Did he, James, look like that too, when he got excited? It was a crazed sort of look...

"You could go get her, easy. You'll have to return her to her world later, mind. But don't worry, it's all fixed. It'll be written off as chapters in your life that were never screened. Just like everything that's not in the books, things that weren't mentioned or forgotten by the author, that J.K. woman... are changeable futures for us. The only thing that's set in stone," Sirius said, "is what's been _screened_ or _written_. For _you_ , _and_ for _us_." He grinned in a way that made goosebumps rise on the Doctor's skin.

"Everything else is a free-for-all," Sirius said. "We could do _anything_. Think of the possibilities!"

The Doctor did, at an amazing speed as well. Every outcome just played out before his mind's eyes, coming to a screeching halt at one that was, sadly, not good.

Not by a long shot.

"You say all the universes are blending together," he told Sirius, jumping up from the sofa, where he'd plopped next to James and dashing to the TARDIS console, poking at the buttons and turning levers and things.

"I said something different, but yes, that's the gist of it," Sirius answered, back to looking at the screen over his shoulder. "All of them."

"That rip in time and space," the Doctor went on, "It would bring all parallel realities together."

"Uh, it's already happening?" James pointed out most unhelpfully, pointing at himself and Sirius.

"Daleks and Cybermen," the Doctor breathed.

"And Sontarans, and those things made out of fat," Sirius supplied.

"Yeah, them too. Aliens and... _Voldemort_?"

"Well, we didn't want to tell you that nasty bit of news so soon, but that's part of what we need your help with," Sirius answered. How he could sound so casual about it was lost on the Doctor.

"Voldemort is _here_?"

"Um, not that we know of, but... he _could_ be soon," Sirius supplied, catching and correctly reading the look on the Doctor's face. He ventured a further, "Y'know... Technically?"

"We need to stop that from happening!"

"Oh, _yes_." Sirius flashed him a grin, patting him on the back.

"What." said the Doctor.

"Don't lose it! Not when you've finally got it!" James said, leaping up from the sofa as though he'd been fitted with a spring. "Mind if we go for walkies now?"

"What? This could be the end of the world and you want to go for _walkies_?"

"I am _bored_! I've had to sit through _that_ ,"he gestured at Sirius for an explanation, "for _weeks_ , and we're here in the Middle Ages and _I want to see some of it_!"

"There's little else we can do, really, if you think of it," Sirius told the Doctor. "In this time, nothing's happened yet, and we don't even know for sure what _will_ happen – there's time to figure it out. And I need to do a wee."

"You want to go _out there_?"

"Part-time dog, remember?" Sirius replied, jabbing a thumb at himself and grinning as he and James made their way jauntily to the doors. "Besides, there's nothing better than a walk to help sort your jumbled thoughts out."

"My thoughts aren't...!" the Doctor started, but he too, followed to the TARDIS doors, never finishing his sentence. There was indeed so much to think about, he couldn't really make heads or tails of everything all at once. And he wouldn't really want to leave those two alone – which he would have to hurry up for. He'd just reached the doors, and both of them were already going down a hill, racing each other to what looked a village from the early Dark Ages.

"Oy! You two! Don't wander off!" he shouted after them. "Why doesn't anyone _ever_ listen?" he muttered to himself, locking his TARDIS and following morosely, kicking at some dried cow's poop as he went. "Not even people from _other universes_ listen, is it that hard to understand? 'Don't do anything stupid; do exactly as I say... And _don't wander off_.' It's all sensible rules!"

* * *

TBC, review!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up Next: Some Dark Ages exploration, not without some action. Arthur and Merlin, and yes, Torchwood join the mix. Who knows what will happen?


	6. In the Halls of

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter: The Doctor and the boys help a witch from being burned, we meet the denizens of Camelot, and Torchwood arrives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Doctor Who, Harry Potter, and even Camelot don't belong to me, but like the song says, I really don't care.

* * *

**Part Six: In the Halls of the Mountain King**

**Or**

**Arthur, Guinevere, and... Uncle Merlin?**

**Alternate title: Wha-** _**huh** _ **?**

* * *

 

A very confused Doctor trundled half-listlessly down a beaten path towards the medieval village James and Sirius had all but raced to, head-over-heels and without any apparent care in the world. And they did that, despite having just given him what was terrible, terrible news, which his gifted Time-Lord mind was even now dissecting…

And it was coming to disturbing conclusions.

All the universes blending together, parallel realities fusing into one, where anything and everything could exist, to boil down to only two options – one, where _everything_ existed, all at once; another, where _nothing_ did – That was _bad_.

It was worse than bad. It was terrible. Worse still, it was all the terrible you could imagine, and then triple that and put it in a blender with all the worst spices in the world – minus nutmeg, maybe, he didn't like nutmeg; it was too.. yuck. The Doctor steered away from the dismal thoughts about nutmeg and concentrated on the situation at hand. The terribleness – was that even a word? – of what he'd gotten into this time was terrifyingly terrible and horrific indeed.

The Doctor kicked morosely at a stray stone in his path and looked up towards the semi-fortified cluster of stone and wood huts that made up the village, protected by a palisade of roughly-hewn tree trunks, where the very boys who had given him such terrible news of doom and gloom (and any number of gruesome things ending in 'oom') had just arrived, identical black cloaks billowing in a sudden gust of wind that had seemed to appear out of nowhere just for that purpose.

They were shoving each other out of the way to win the race they'd engaged in, all laughs and charm, not caring that they startled some of the villagers gathering dirt in the nearby fields with their racket and looking not at all out of place in this ancient, utterly _low-tech_ setting.

Under any other circumstances, the Doctor would have been racing them in a similarly excited manner, but this time around, he was… bemused. And thinking important things too, which could be easily noticed by looking at his face; he wore a deep frown, which few had ever seen.

Because he was rarely worried, perplexed, and confused all at once, but today, as it happened, was one such time.

_Well._

If the possible cancelling out of all universes and having Voldemort and the Sontarans join forces or something equally daunting – if original – wasn't enough to make him worry, then what could?

So yes, he was worried.

A bit.

He followed at a considerably slower pace, hands in his pockets and shedding his brainy specs. Not even those were helping him now. Over at the village, Sirius and James had reached the gate and were demanding entrance in a way completely befitting the Dark Ages: they were taking turns kicking at it until someone came over to open it.

"Oy!" yelled Sirius, loud enough for anyone to hear a mile away. "Gatekeeper! Open up!"

Right next to him, James snickered.

"You dig this whole Medieval kick, don't you?"

"It's a good outlet," Sirius replied, flashing him a grin. "OY! Gatekeeperrrrr!"

It didn't happen right away, which gave the Doctor time to approach, already searching his pockets for the Slightly Psychic Paper. It might be the Dark Ages, and he had his doubts as to the reading capacities of the Gatekeeper... but the protocol that applied to any stranger knocking on a door hadn't changed since doors were invented, back in the day where they were first placed on cave entrances, that sort of thing. And sure enough, there was some shuffling and creaking of hinges on the other side, and a rudimentary window was opened.

"Who goes there?" asked a gruff voice, belonging to a weathered, old-looking man whose face was eyeing them suspiciously from the other side of the peeping window.

Sirius drew himself up, took a breath, and said, "It is I, Ar –" He was going to finish the sentence with 'Arthur, King of the Britons', but the man's eyes widened before he could finish, and then several things happened in quick succession: The man started apologising profusely, the gate opened, and everyone who was nearby left whatever they were doing to bow to him and James, even as the Doctor arrived.

"Welcome, my lords," said the gatekeeper, his matted hair nearly brushing the ground as he bowed as low as he could go.

Sirius and James stood frozen to the spot, not having expected such a welcome. What, exactly, had they wandered into now? Sirius' eyes flickered towards James, and as silver grey met hazel, a silent conversation ensued.

 _What's going on_ _, Prongs?_

James gave him a tiny, one-shouldered shrug.

 _You're expecting_ _**me** _ _to know?_

Sirius cocked an eyebrow impatiently.

 _Well_ _, they_ _**are** _ _bowing to_ _**both** _ _of us._

James raised both of his.

_Maybe we've been here before and they remember our outstanding good looks, charm and wit?_

Sirius let out a snort.

 _You'd think we'd remember if we'd been here before. We haven't,_ he added with a pointed look. _We didn't go to any Muggle towns last time we were in the Middle Ages either, just Hogwarts and Hogsmeade._

_Yeah, that was fun. We should do it again sometime._

_Sure, next stop, perhaps?_ Sirius gave James a tiny, impatient huff. _To the matter at hand, if you please, Mr. Prongs? Your attention span is shorter than an African Swallow's._

_Are those the ones that migrate?_

_... Yeah._

But this conversation wasn't really yielding any results, so Sirius resolved to go about it the conventional way. He cleared his throat, turning to the Gatekeeper in the same way his dad used to address other, lower-class wizards at work (that was to say, everyone else). It wasn't something Sirius usually did, it might be added. He hated it, but right now, it was actually a good thing to know how to do.

"Thank you, Gatekeeper," he said graciously, gesturing at the people, who hadn't moved from their spots, to rise. Then, realising that it would be hard to find out where they were if they were _known_ here, of all things, he added, "What kept you?"

"My lord, I do beg forgiveness," said the Gatekeeper, studiously avoiding looking at him and keeping his head bowed, which struck Sirius as funny. He glanced at James again.

 _Will you look at that, they do go the full mile, averting their eyes and_ _everything._

 _I wonder if he'll grovel_ , James responded with a quirk of his lips.

"But my lord, everyone was at the square," the gatekeeper went on. "The priests have found a witch, they are arranging her burning."

"Whoa, whoa. Wait just a tick," James blurted out. "What do you _mean_ , you found a witch?"

"The priests did, my lord. We were only watching."

"Weren't you just," said Sirius, crossing his arms with a frown. "We shall go and see this witch for ourselves. You there, go and tell them to stop everything until we arrive," he added to a boy who was looking at them with undisguised amazement, and who dashed off with a squeak.

"You go with him," James ordered the gatekeeper, if only to boss someone around too. Couldn't let Sirius have all the fun, now could he?

"Yes, my lord," was the response, and bowing low once again, the man hurried after the boy.

"A witch, eh?" asked the Doctor. "You two certainly know how to keep entertained, _my lords_."

"I wonder what that's all about," Sirius said, striking up the same path the gatekeeper had disappeared through and shoving his hands in his pockets. "I don't remember being here before."

"Neither do I," added James, grinning, "but really, this whole 'my lord' deal is nice. Why don't we get people to grovel to us at home?"

"I really don't know," Sirius said with a chuckle. "But I'm sure you could certainly get used to it."

"You bet. Maybe I can get Lily to grovel to me and things," James replied, a bit dreamily, which made both Sirius and the Doctor choke on a laugh.

"I'm sure it would be a brilliant marriage arrangement."

They turned a corner, and suddenly a many-voiced clamour reached their ears. They couldn't see what was going on yet exactly, but the crowd that seemed to be gathered a few houses away, was rather descriptive in its demands.

"Burn the witch!" they heard, and "scorch her!" followed by, "Kill her!" and again, " _Burrrrrn_ her!"

"Well, it sounds like they want to burn her," the Doctor established, but no longer were any of them in the mood for banter. James dashed around one corner to check out the premises, while Sirius took the centre and the Doctor started drifting to the right, already adjusting his sonic screwdriver...

Sirius' hand stopped him.

"Too much like witchcraft, that thing," he said, shaking his head at the Doctor with a pointed look at the sonic screwdriver. "You don't want to get burned too. I'm sure Time-lords aren't fireproof."

"Oh, right," muttered the Doctor, scowling as he buried his life-saving instrument in the depths of his coat. "So we're—"

"Doing things differently," James hissed, already peering around the corner. "Ohh... _Lookit_."

"Ah, blast. Here we go _again_ ," Sirius muttered in a long-suffering tone, casting his eyes to the skies.

"What?" asked the Doctor.

"He _likes_ her." Sirius jabbed a thumb at James for an answer.

"She's cute," James decided to inform, beaming at them. Sirius rolled his eyes.

"Well, she _is_ , you'd agree with me if you saw her, just _look_!" James hissed, and he sort of did have a point. This was nothing like Miss Tottenham Court Road, or Miss Marble Arch, or even Miss Glastonbury Festival, 1999... This, Sirius decided, popping his head around the corner and having a look as well, was... actually... pretty okay.

"To the matter at hand, _my lords_ ," the Doctor reminded them, gesturing at the considerable stack of wood piled up underneath and around the writhing – albeit hot – girl, who was struggling to free herself from the rough rope she was bound with to a pole.

All around, the crowd, which numbered some fifty-odd people, was enthralled with the scene, and the Doctor had to admit the priests were rather good at staging a performance. Three of them, dressed in black robes, were standing in front of the pyre, two of them holding lit torches aloft, while the third held a huge gold-studded slab of a book, a bible, no doubt, and glared at the Gatekeeper, who was duly stopping the action, to much booing and catcalling from the villagers.

"People of Camelot," the priest started. Sirius and James, who were just deciding what to do, stared for a moment. They looked at each other, identical stunned looks on their faces.

" _Camelot_!" they both mouthed at each other, eyes glinting. This was going to be fun.

In the background, the priest was listing off the girl's offences, which included, but were not limited to, having a hairy wart – which the Doctor suspected was a mashed pea stuck to her nose – practicing the art of magic, turning some villagers into newts, toads, and snakes, and lastly, being too comely to lay eyes on and still daring to walk freely on the streets. In broad daylight, at that.

"Um, boys. Any ideas...?" the Doctor gestured at the girl. The three of them were still peering round the corner, unmoving.

"Well, she could certainly lose that wart," Sirius commented, snorting. "It's unbecoming."

"I'm sure they dressed her up like this," James countered lightly, grinning. "She's so pretty... I bet she'd look stunning in a proper dress."

"Yeah, or without it," Sirius snickered. "I bet you'd like that, eh?"

The Doctor found himself getting very impatient in a very short time, although he had to admit that the getup the girl had been given was more like a Halloween costume gone bad.

"Oh, yes," James stated, his grin threatening to split his face in two.

"There's no time to argue about her state of dress – or undress, as it were!" the Doctor erupted at a hiss. "Could you two _please_ get some perspective?"

"Alright, keep your hair on granddad," Sirius chuckled, even as James added, "Don't get your y-fronts in a twist."

"I..." the Doctor started, looking straight at them. But they were moving. As one, Sirius and James straightened up, striding towards the pyre and ignoring the priest completely. "I don't..." The Doctor shook his head, completely bewildered. These two were worse than... than... than _him_!

"I don't wear y-fronts," he muttered in defeat, following them to the square. "And I'm not a granddad…"

Not that either of them listened. They were already waltzing around like they owned the place. Apparently the straightforward approach was the way to go here.

"Stop that, stop that," James was saying, holding his hands up as he strode right up in front of the pyre, and the priest fell silent. Everyone around them bowed. The Doctor slapped himself on the forehead.

"I'll have these," Sirius declared, snatching up the torches from the other two priests, leaving them sputtering. "Thank you… uh, your honours." He flashed them a grin and winked at the crowd, making some of the girls and women present sigh.

"My lords," the head priest – a bishop, to judge by the ridiculous headdress he was wearing – gasped in shock. "What is the meaning of this?"

"Just a... a... routine pyre check," the Doctor hurried forward, flashing his wallet with the Slightly Psychic Paper at the bishop, who looked at it, eyes widening.

"Your... Excellency," he said, and he too, bowed before the Doctor.

"These people are big on the grovelling front, aren't they?" the Doctor asked Sirius and James out of the corner of his mouth. Aloud he added, "Yes, yes, my dear bishop; you may, uh. Rise?"

"And you," Sirius and James added as one, addressing the crowd. Slowly, people straightened up and watched the developments in silence. Even the girl strapped to the pole had quieted down, watching them all with wide eyes.

"We have come to check on the protocols you are following," the Doctor announced, to which James and Sirius looked at each other and shrugged.

"Yeah," James said. "We'd like to know how you proceed with... your proceedings. So... How do you know she is a witch?"

"She looks like one," Sirius pointed out at once, to which some people in the crowd added their, "Aye!"

"She's got a wart!" came from an old codger, who pointed at his nose.

James peered in on the girl... and shook his head.

"Does it look like a wart?" he asked Sirius and the Doctor, who came over to look too, pushing Sirius' torches aside.

"Sorry," Sirius said, raising an eyebrow at James, who was gazing adoringly into the girl's eyes. She seemed quite taken with him. "It's a bit of dried food," Sirius added, feigning disappointment.

"Tell me, bishop," the Doctor turned at the priests, all business again. "Is poor hygiene a cause for burning?"

"Well, _no_ … but we have countless allegations—" the bishop sputtered, waving the scroll at the Doctor, who snatched it from him and perused it.

"She turned people into frogs and toads and… _newts_?" he asked aloud, with his trademark over-exaggerated frown.

"Aye, Your Excellency," the bishop said, then pointed at some of the villagers. "Some are present! They can tell you. Let them come forth!"

"What, you've got _talking animals_?" the Doctor asked. Sirius and James perked up.

"No, they're all..." The bishop gestured at a small group of very shifty-looking people.

"Hmm, I'm not an expert, but they don't really look like toads," Sirius commented as a few villagers shuffled forward. "Well, maybe that one," he amended, pointing at a roundly bloke. "A bit."

"They got better," said the bishop.

"I'd have liked to see talking animals," Sirius said, putting out the torches. "Can't you ask her to turn someone into one?"

James gave him a dirty look.

"I thought you _liked_ her!" he hissed in a low voice. Sirius shrugged one shoulder.

"I kind of do..." he replied. "Just not enough to go against public opinion."

"Why aren't they newts and toads now?" the Doctor asked, "Bishop, they look alright to me."

"God has saved them, by making her guilty! She turned them back into men," said the bishop fervently. "So they could accuse the perpetrator of such crimes, the one who sold her soul to the Dark One!" his voice rose dramatically, but few cheered at his words.

"Wha, Voldemort?" Sirius wondered at mid-voice, but it wasn't loud enough to be heard. "But that would be a bit stupid, wouldn't it?" he asked the priests. "I mean, if she's a witch, then what reason would she have to make these people better? Wouldn't she have made them into a soup? I mean, allegations from some people shouldn't be enough to turn her into Sunday roast," he added to the bishop, who was giving him a sharp look. "Your... er… Honour."

"Grace," the Doctor hissed.

"Who?" Sirius asked, in the same tone.

"It's Your Gr—Oh, forget about it."

"He's right," James pitched in. "Witches," he said, "are different from men, so shouldn't there be a way to tell without a doubt whether or not she is one?"

"I'm not a witch, I'm not a witch!" the girl squeaked, struggling against her bonds.

"She says she's not a witch!" James exclaimed. Sirius chorused it with him, but he sounded bored, crossing his arms with a frown.

"So is she one or not?" he asked in a huff.

"Yes she is," said the Bishop.

"I am _NOT_!" shouted the girl.

"Do you have any proof?" Sirius asked. "I'd hate it if she weren't a witch, and then you burned her – what would God say?"

"Well, my lords… um."

"Come on," said Sirius eagerly. "I'm sure _you_ at least _saw_ her turn someone into a newt or something, there _has_ to be some proof."

"Well not as such, no," the bishop said apologetically. He was clearly taking a liking towards Sirius, but that was just because he was pretending to be the "good cop" in their routine.

"What's her story, then?" the Doctor asked, folding his arms.

"Well," said the bishop, scratching his head, which made him look even dumber than before. "She… is a witch."

"Without any proof thereof," Sirius pointed out, disappointed.

"I am so sorry, my lords, your Excellency…"

"Never you mind, bishop, we'll prove without a doubt that she's a witch. And _then_ we can have ourselves a _roast_!" Sirius said, clapping his hands together. The people cheered. So did the bishop.

"How are we doing that, my lord?"

"Simple," Sirius said, then turned to the crowd. "Tell me, good people, do witches sink in water?"

"No!" Was the answer. "They… they… they _float_!"

"That's right," Sirius said happily. This was too good. "Do you know _why_ they float?" There was a silence, during which the Doctor looked at Sirius, completely nonplussed, James was trying his utmost not to laugh, and the bishop and his friends were watching Sirius adoringly.

"Why, my lord?"

"Because they're made of _wood_ ," James chimed up with a grin.

"That's right," said Sirius. "That's also why they make a pretty bonfire." The girl whimpered against her bonds.

"It's alright," James told her at a whisper, "he knows what he's doing. What's your name?"

"Guinevere," she sobbed out. "What's yours?"

"I'm James. He's Sirius, and that bloke over there is the Doctor," James introduced, even if Guinevere didn't seem to be registering any of his words, panicked as she was. "We've come to help." Aloud he added to the priests, who were watching the exchange suspiciously, "Her bonds are tight enough, can't have her disappear on us, can we?"

Sirius was doing his little routine to a tee; he had people guessing what other things floated in water for a bit, to which he received responses that ranged from potatoes, to gravy, to little rocks, to insects… Then he went on telling them stuff about weight ratios and all sorts of things besides, until everyone was staring at him, cluelessly, but at the same time, completely enthralled. 'If you can't beat them, confuse them', was his motto, right along with 'Never tickle a sleeping dragon', and he and James had played this game before.

"…And therefore, if she weighs the same as a…" Sirius stopped expectantly, waiting for his audience to respond.

"If… if she weighs the same as a _duck_ …" said the bishop, "then that means… that means…"

"That she's made out of wood," James pitched in helpfully.

"And therefore…" Sirius prompted, grinning widely.

"Therefore… she's a… a…"

"A witch," said the Doctor.

"A _WITCH_! A _WITCH_!" the good people of Camelot roared happily.

"We need some big scales," said Sirius. "Untie the girl, and get us a good, fat duck."

It was arranged with amazing speed. The crowd escorted the girl in triumph, while the butcher got his fattest duck. James was grinning from ear to ear, having volunteered to make sure the girl didn't escape. Which meant, he got to hold her arm, while Sirius was directing everyone about the proper position of things… and then the girl was placed on the scale, while the butcher put the duck on the other side.

Immediately, the girl went down, aided along with a silent spell from James – just in case she _did_ weigh the same as a duck; there was no telling with girls, after all.

The duck was now sitting high up on the other scale.

" _BOOO_!" went the crowd.

"Bummer," said Sirius. "She's not a witch. Oh well," he added to the bishop, clapping him on the shoulder. "Better luck next time."

"We were _so certain_ , my lord… Your Excellency, I don't know how this most irregular thing happened…" he added, apologising profusely to the Doctor.

"Make sure you weigh the next one against a duck," the Doctor said sternly, amidst promises of adding this proof system to the protocol in the future.

The girl was released, and clung immediately to James' neck, peppering his face with kisses.

"Oh, thank you, thank you, my lord!"

"Oh, it's quite alright," James said, grinning from ear to ear.

"Yeah, it's not like _he_ did anything," said Sirius, burying his hands in his pockets with a long-suffering sigh.

"I'd have done this differently," the Doctor told him. "A duck, eh?"

"Didn't you ever watch Monty Python and the Holy Grail?"

"No…"

"You haven't _lived_. Best flick _ever_."

Just then, as the disappointed crowd was dispersing and James was considering looking for a haystack or something similarly private to carry on getting to know Guinevere – he simply _loved_ hay – there was a thundering of hooves, and everyone, bar Sirius and James and the Doctor, fell to their knees as though someone had hit them in the back of the legs.

Three horses had arrived, their riders shouting imperious orders to "STOP THE BURNING!"

"What got their knickers in a wad?" Sirius wondered, watching them arrive. The Doctor shrugged. But then Sirius stared. There, on the foremost horse, was…

" _Dad_?" he whispered, aghast.

"What?" asked the Doctor, but he went ignored. James was elbowing Sirius in the ribcage.

"Look, there's my dad too."

The three men who had arrived wore expensive-looking clothes. One looked just like Sirius' dad, or rather, sort of like Sirius would when he grew up… if he ever got to do so. He wore black robes, a cape, and a pointy hat with matching tall boots and things. The second wore a circlet around his untidy hair, and looked sort of like a younger version of James' dad, his greying hair completely untidy. The third seemed to be around Sirius' and James' age, with dirty-blond hair and a rather green face, like he'd be sick any moment.

"The burning has been stopped," the Doctor announced, even as the horses came to a standstill mere inches from his face. The Doctor patted one of them, suppressing a grimace. Horses were so… equine.

"My lords," said the Potter-look-alike. "We are grateful for your timely response."

"Yes," added the Black-look-alike, "We feared we would be too late."

"Which you were," Sirius pointed out placidly. He simply loved it when things got complicated.

"The Lady Guinevere is not a sorceress of any kind," the Black-look-alike went on, and Sirius did a double take. Guine… _what_?

He glanced at James, who was still holding an arm around the said 'lady's' shoulders. She didn't seem to mind. Neither did she seem to want to let go of James.

"She is the daughter of King Leodegrance of Carmelide! She is my son's wife-to-be!" said the one who looked like James' dad. Something told Sirius that things were about to get… very complicated. More complicated, at any rate.

"Oh?" he asked. "Who's that, then?"

"Why, Prince Arthur, of course!" said the elderly man. "My son! Arthur, of the House of Pendragon!"

"Why, of _course_ ," Sirius muttered, kicking James in the shins to let go of the girl. He gave him a sideways glance. "So silly of me."

"I thank you for the gallant rescue," said the bloke who looked like James' dad, who was, of course, Uther Pendragon himself. "Arthur, you would do well to take her to the castle. My lords, you shall be rewarded richly for your deeds… There shall be a feast tonight! At Camelot castle!"

The crowd, which was still grovelling like utter pros, erupted in cheers.

"My boys, I hope to see you there tonight," said the Black-look-alike. "You can tell us all about your travels."

"Uh, sure," said Sirius, blinking at the familiar address. Something very strange was going on here, he only could not figure out what.

Arthur, who, Sirius assumed, was the bloke who looked like he'd spew up his breakfast, dismounted in a fluid motion that belied his sickness, and took off his cloak, to wrap the Lady Guinevere in it, before helping her mount his steed, a huge horse that looked ready to breathe fire. Or pull a beer cart, whichever came first.

"You were late," Guinevere said reproachfully.

"The party last night dragged on," Arthur said, with a yawn. "At least you're okay and everything."

"No thanks to you," Guinevere huffed, but allowed him to lift her onto the saddle, while giving James what Sirius called googly eyes.

Moments later, the trio was gone, thundering out of Camelot like they owned the place – which they did – and towards a castle that was perched atop a hill.

"Well," said the Doctor, eyes twinkling. "Party tonight, eh?"

Sirius turned around at James. "Now you've done it," he said crossly. " _Guinevere_ , what got into you?"

"I _like_ her!"

"That's the problem. You like anything with boobs. Even Pimply Patsy."

"Oh, don't start!"

"You loooved each of her spots," Sirius crooned. "Every last zit."

James gagged.

"You _kissed_ them," Sirius reminded him, evilly. "Sucked them."

"I was drunk!" he sputtered, turning a bit green. Sirius was chanting something about love going beyond outer looks, and pimples and pus and things. Some people in the crowd started clapping. "You're evil."

"I'm not evil. I'm hungry."

"Shut up, Sirius."

.

* * *

 

"Here we are, my lords," the Doctor told the boys a couple of hours later. They were standing in front of a drawbridge complete with a moat and moat monster, whom Sirius, who was even now chewing on a drumstick, had already dubbed "Coco". They'd parked the TARDIS in a clearing about a mile away, and strolled along a path lined with shrubberies until they reached the castle.

At once, armed guards welcomed them and ushered them inside, where a butler was waiting. He looked exactly like Dumbledore. James' and Sirius' eyebrows went up so high that they were threatening to take off on their own.

The Doctor found it amusing, explaining at mid-voice about genetic patterns repeating themselves across generations, and when the butler asked him for his identity scroll. He flashed him his Slightly-Psychic Paper.

"Ah, Sir Doctor of TARDIS, Lord of Time," said the butler. It was the Doctor's turn to stare.

"What did you say?" he asked, aghast. Had his Psychic Paper gone faulty?

"Do come in and be welcome," replied the Butler graciously. "Lord Black, Lord Gryffindor, kindly follow me. King Uther has decided you are guests at Camelot for however long you desire."

The three of them did, giving each other uneasy glances. How was it that these people _knew_?

"Lord _Gryffindor_?" James wondered, shaking his head. "I thought nobody knew about that. What happened to Potter?"

"Beats me," replied Sirius. He was the only one being addressed by his proper name, so he didn't have to worry about anything… Until the Butler snatched his snack from his hands and tossed it to a large bullmastiff. "Oy…"

They entered a throne chamber larger than the Great Hall at Hogwarts, and similarly laid out. You could even see the setting sun through the roof. In fact, Camelot Castle was very similar to Hogwarts, like an unfinished draft.

"My King Uther Pendragon of Camelot," the Butler announced loudly, causing the small crowd in the hall to stop what they were doing and turn to look at them. There was the man who resembled Sirius' dad, talking to a couple of old women. That in itself wasn't weird – what was, though, was the fact that he was openly levitating some golden goblets towards them. And that they were making furniture walk closer so they could sit more comfortably.

The Butler cleared his throat dramatically.

"I give you Sir Doctor of TARDIS, Lord of Time; James Copernillius Potter, Heir of Gryffindor of the Third House of Myrddin, and Sirius Orion Hellion Soren Pendragon of the House of Black, of the First House of Myrddin."

There was some polite clapping. The Butler bowed before them and backed away in the same motion, shutting the double doors to the throne room with a _clang_. Sirius and James were gobsmacked. How did this man know who they were?

The Doctor snickered to himself, glad he wasn't the only one baffled anymore.

"Ah, _nephews_!" the wizard who looked just like Sirius' dad exclaimed, striding towards them with open arms. "I trust you like it here, in this time?"

"Er… well." James shrugged. "Sure?"

"Yeah… the roast goose is pretty good," Sirius answered, stomach rumbling. "How come you know about us?"

"I am Myrddin, the greatest wizard of the age," said the wizard genially. "I'm supposed to know all of these things. You'd know me as Merlin, my school-time nickname. You may call me Uncle Merlin, if you so wish. Welcome to Camelot." He flourished a hand, and light erupted everywhere as fireworks went off, whizzing past people's heads and showering them all with brilliant sparks. Uther waved at them with a bright grin.

"I thought magic was being routed out in this time," the Doctor ventured.

"Only officially," said Merlin, leading them to a laden buffet table, which Sirius wasted no time attacking. "Uther pretends to be witch-hunting, but he's a warlock himself. It keeps that new religion out of our hair."

"I bet soon they'll start making up stories about us," said Uther, who had come to join them. "Turning me into some petty, mindless tyrant or something. Muggles, you never know what they'll cook up next. But we're holding out however long we need to." He ruffled James' hair, nodding in satisfaction as he surveyed him, sort of like a grandfather with a favourite grandson. "Right now, our main concern are those wild dragons. This is them, then?"

"Yep," said Merlin. "Just like I told you. Time-travellers from the future. Things are going to get… interesting."

"How'd you…? What're you…?" James started, but he hadn't a clue what to ask and turned to Sirius for suggestions instead.

" _Cluck_." said Sirius. He looked a bit out of sorts all of a sudden. He clucked again.

"Oh no. He's doing the chicken thing again!" the Doctor exclaimed, even as Sirius grabbed his head and fell to the floor.

"Torchwood," James spat angrily. "Can't they leave us alone for one—"

"More wizards?" asked Uther, while Merlin summoned his staff from nearby.

"Not quite," James decided not to explain at all, dragging Sirius out of the way, even as the Doctor pulled his Sonic Screwdriver out and started fiddling with the settings in a hurry. "More like witch-hunters. Stand back a bit and you'll see."

Suddenly, there was a whooshing sound. Right where Sirius had stood not a moment earlier, a hole seemed to open in midair; kind of like a toilet flush placed upright. Out of it marched five humans dressed in black, armed to the teeth.

Yvonne the Hag marched ahead of them, cocking her laser shotgun with what Sirius had described as 'the smile of death'. James could sort of see what he'd been on about.

"Greetings," she said into the silence, looking at the crowd from the Middle Ages with utter superiority and disdain. "You'll hand over the boy, if you know what's good for you."

* * *

 


	7. My Darling Guinevere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter: James and Sirius make themselves at home at Camelot, the Doctor wants to do magic, we meet Morgana, Snape's ancestor, and Draco's too.

* * *

**Part Seven**

**My Darling Guinevere**

**Or**

**Why Lily Should be Mad**

* * *

**.**

"Awake yet?" James' voice made it through the haze Sirius' mind had been enveloped in until now. But after years of waking up to it, he simply ignored it. Besides, his head hurt.

A _lot._

The silence, blissful, _quiet_ silence stretched for the space for a few moments. It was broken only by a distinct sensation of … someone _hovering_ nearby. And breathing. Sirius, however, having shared a dormitory with six loud boys for most of his life, had no trouble ignoring these noises either.

"How about now?" came not three seconds later. Although he was tempted to groan, Sirius didn't move; this, too, was customary. Something told him in no uncertain terms that James was trying him to get up early to test some new Quidditch moves. It was the only time James was up before anyone else, ever. Sirius decided he wasn't in the mood for Woolongong Shimmies or Beater Barrages. It was surely cold outside — which didn't deter James when he was _sure_ his newest idea would blow Slytherin out of the game — and possibly, quite uncomfortably wet as well. So, Sirius did the best he could in these occasions: he lay as still as before,never letting it on he'd heard at all.

"No?"

_No. Go away._

But James was impossible to shake off, once he'd set his mind on something. Ask Lily Evans, any time. He thought he was cute when he did that.

He _wasn't_.

"And now?" A finger pried Sirius' left eyelid open. He wrenched it shut with a groan. When James got hands-on, nothing he ever tried to ignore him worked. He sighed in defeat, but didn't otherwise move. James seemed to view this as an invitation to carry on prodding. So prod he did, at Sirius' sides, his feet, his belly... Gah. "How about now? No? C'mon, man. Wake up already. I'm sure you're feeling better, I mean, you should be feeling better, after Uncle Merlin had at you. Are you better? Eh? Eh? Are you?"

_Uncle Merlin, what?_

"Mbghh…" Sirius would be better if James just let him sleep for five more minutes… Hours. Days. He was trying to say as much, but his tongue wouldn't respond to commands. Then again, his brain was slurring too, so it was understandable, to him at least, that his tongue couldn't understand what his brain bloody _meant_. Which was for James to leave and let him sleep on, thanks.

"You know I hate it when you speak only in consonants. Want to rephrase?"

"Mughreeh…" Sirius revised, but all pretence of sleep had vanished. He realised, upon opening his eyes, that he wasn't at Hogwarts. And that James hadn't asked him to get up early for Quidditch practice in years. If that Potter-shaped blur was James at all. Gah, headache…

"Yeah, I can't understand you even now," James said conversationally, and now Sirius saw he was perched on the — vast would be a fair description — side of his bed. "So if you'd explain yourself, Padfoot?"

Sirius would have tried, but his capacity for speech wasn't quite up to par even after he'd sat up, which was surprisingly harder than he'd thought at first. And when he finally looked blearily around, his capacity for speech simply took a hike.

He was in a room that, if described, could only be termed majestic; there were hand-embroidered cushions everywhere, and the warm blankets he'd been covered with were in reality assorted furs of cute woodland creatures. Yummy ones, he was inclined to bet. The four-poster bed with the phoenix and dragon carvings he was lying on was enormous, forget about king size; you could get lost in here. Itshangings were woven of silver and gold, and there was a fireplace floating smack in the middle of the large room, which cast its dancing light on moving tapestries and paintings of — definitely — exquisite taste. As Sirius' eyesight sharpened in time with his wits, he took in the life-like dragon statues, the carvings on walls and ceilings, the coats of arms and banners that completed the decoration.

He decided the room was an all right room.

Bugger if he knew where he was, though.

"Morning."

"Afternoon," James corrected, now coming from somewhere to his right. "I thought you'd gotten petrified. You actually kind of look like you were..."James was peering in on him, grinning widely, and looking very… Medieval Times. He was wearing a leather armour and everything. Sirius decided he'd get one too. It looked cool. "Want anything? Water? Tea? They don't know about coffee here yet, but you never cared much for it anyway. There's no cokes, but they have this cider... Oh, and you _have_ to taste the wine." At the same time he talked his ears off, James decided he needed a drink and levitated a goblet at him.

Sirius blinked a few times.

James watched him expectantly.

Then Sirius' stomach rumbled.

"I'm hungry." He managed after a sip of… was this mulled wine? He decided he liked the wine first thing in the morning, and that he'd make that a habit.

"That's better. _Are_ you, though?"

_What, hungry? Yeah…_ "'M I wha?"

"Feeling alright?"

"I s'pose. Why'd you keep asking?"

"Depends on what you can remember." _Oh no._ Now he was going all cryptic. Sirius' slurring brain had already had its job cut out for it just trying to coordinate hand and tongue coordination, did James really expect it to actually _think_ on top of that?"What _do_ you remember, then?"

Yes, by all looks of it, he did.

So Sirius racked his brain mercilessly, and gave it some wine — which helped it along loads better than the racking, thanks— and sketchy bits of information came through. He had already established he wasn't at Hogwarts; this was definitely not a Torchwood cell block, either; he frowned, looking himself over. Aside from the fact that he was wearing the longest nightshirt ever seen, nothing seemed to be any different.

"We met the Doctor, didn't we? With the Sontarans?"

"Yes. Go on," James prompted.

"I can't," Sirius complained. "I'm famished."

"Oh, yeah. Sorry, I'll get you an English breakfast... Better yet, I'll make it two. Maybe three," James decided, getting up. "With buns... you'll love them, Rosie the cook makes them fresh every time you fancy a roll." He was at the far end of the room now, grabbing onto... a rope? Was the food up on the ceiling, perhaps?

He didn't do any acrobatics, though. He pulled the rope, which must've been attached to a bell, because next Sirius heard was tolling. _York Minster-_ mass _-_ type tolling.

_Gods, my head…_

"Gah." He buried his head under a pillow, while bustling followed James' muffled voice, as though an entire –clinking and clanging- regiment had arrived.

When he dared to peek, it was _only_ because the most delicious smells had filled the room. Mouth watering, Sirius looked up from under his pillows. He suddenly knew where he was.

He was in _heaven_.

There was everything he could have wished for, on a couple of dining room tables which a bunch of strangers in tunics brought in at a trot and lined up next to his hugenormous bed: breakfast sausage, still sizzling from the pan; bacon and eggs and tomatoes, and a block of cheese, and those little slices of bread that come with cream spreads, chips and fish and pork, and _beef stew_ and what looked like _roast mutton_ , and _pies_ and venison, rolls and those buns James had been on about, and jam and tea, and…

And he decided right then, he liked the catering.

"It's all yours, Padfoot. Dig in, just skip the venison, there's a lad. I couldn't bear it," James told him happily, nibbling on a truncheon and looking for all the world like he'd cooked it all himself. "And while you're at it, what _do_ you remember?"

"Right," Sirius mumbled in between bites. His headache was gone, and his brain had enough fuel now to actually do its job. "I remember the Tower of London," he said, "and going to the TARDIS…"

"Yep."

"And we were — well, _I_ was, there was no help from your end at all —"

"Oy! I helped!"

"— telling him about the paradox, and… did anyone try and burn a girl?"

"Guinevere, if you please. I think she's not just _any_ girl," James corrected, but Sirius' pie-fuelled brain was re-engaging. He looked shocked all of a sudden. "She's _special_ , I'll have you know," James carried on, happy and obliviously ignoring Sirius' groan. "I think she likes me."

"What the _hell_ happened?" Sirius asked, suddenly alarmed. He'd remembered it all; getting to Pendragon castle, where something told him he was still at; meeting King Uther and Merlin… and then Torchwood had come and everything was blackness from there on out.

"Nothing _yet_ , but I'm sure she's got the hots for me— I mean, did you see her _look_ at me? Like, really _look_?"

"Not the girl!" Sirius said in exasperation. "The—the — the other lot. Torchwood!"

"Oh _them_ , they're in the dungeons," James said offhandedly from the foot of the bed, where he was lounging. "They were sent packing there by King Uther, just a wave of his staff, and presto. And Uncle Merlin, Sirius— you missed him, he was totally, absolutely, brilliantly, _awesome—_ "

"And you're not going after Guinevere, because she _doesn't_ have the hots for you."

"Uncle Merlin went and zapped Yvonne a new one, with a chicken leg— what? What do you mean she doesn't have the hots for me? Have you _seen_ me lately? I'm so sexy—" James drew himself up and preened a bit. Sirius focused on more important things, such as finishing most of what he'd gotten dished up in record time.

"If she's the Guinevere I think she is, then she's got the hots for _Arthur_ ," he pointed out, in between bites. "Not you. She's not supposed to. She can't."

"Can too," James said mulishly. Sirius drained his goblet and stretched. Gods, everything felt like he'd been used as a dummy for Beater practice…

"Nope," Sirius answered lightly. "It would change history, so…"

"But…"

" _No_." Sirius looked around, shaking his head in a dog-like manner. His tousled hair fell automatically into place, a trait James secretly envied him.

"She's not even married, so in all _technicality_ I _could_ date her…"

"In all technicality… Nope." Now, what to wear? It looked like there were clothes laid out on the other end of the eternal bed of squishiness.

"C'mon… just a bit."

"Nu."

"Gah, Sirius. You're no fun." James was pouting now. Sirius inwardly cackled as he looked through what looked like… the sort of stuff he used to wear at home, really. Only more medievalish. He held up a pair of trousers and wondered what he was supposed to do with all the drawstrings on them. Didn't they have buttons here? Zippers?

"That's not true. I happen to be lots of fun. So, Torchwood are in a cage?" Did the stockings here really need to be this long? He felt like a witch, not a wizard. And did everything here need to be black? Well. The underpants were white…ish. He just hoped they weren't hand-me-downs.

Or recently used.

_Ick_. Should he go without?

Should he... _Sniff_?

"Sort of. I said _dungeon_ , not cage." James was grudging, and so was his tone.

"I need to go look. And you, _you_ need to get Guinevere to start fancying Arthur, and do it quick."

"Do I have to?" James whined. "She's the best-looking girl I've ever met!"

"Whoa, what happened to Evans?" Sirius stopped short mid-struggle with what looked like a doublet, which he _hoped_ wasn't underwear and went _over_ the tunic he'd already thrown over what he hoped was an undershirt. "Gah, what's with all these ruddy layers?"

" _Nothing_ 's happened to Evans. Literally. She's not even born yet. So there." James was sulking, but in the end took pity on him and helped straighten out his layers of clothing. "Accio belt. It's fashionable to always wear a dagger and your wand on a belt. Otherwise people think you're naked or something," he informed. Sirius grinned toothily at him. There would be no changing the subject here.

"Tsk tsk, that's going to break her heart."

"You're not telling, so no, it won't," James hissed, giving the belt a yank. Sirius winced, then laughed. "Now get your boots on, they're over there."

Sirius all but leered back, " _Sure_."

"Padfoot, I'm warning you…"

"Set history straight, Prongs," Sirius replied adamantly, putting on a pair of boots that looked like captain Morgan's. They were quite comfortable, though. He decided to keep them. "If I'm right, and I'm usually right, he's like, your ancestor or something. Uther looks eerily like your _dad_ , man. So she's like your great-great-great-great-great-great-something grandmother. Better watch it."

" _Ugh_. You have to bloody ruin everything."

"I'm just saving your life. Which way to the dungeons?"

"I refuse to thank you for that. Across the courtyard two floors down, by the outhouses and stables. They're on the third of the lower levels, second corridor to the right, fifth cell to the right. Grab a snack, it's a bit of a long walk."

"Gotcha. On both counts," Sirius answered lightly, summoning himself some food for the road. Venison, some rolls, butter and jam along with some apples and a bunch of pork pies flew into a quickly-conjured sack he hauled over his shoulder. Another pie landed in his hand. "Later, thanks for breakfast."

"Yeah, thanks for ruining my day," James groused. Sirius, though, didn't seem fazed by it. He just smirked and headed for the door. "And for eating my kin!"

.

* * *

.

"So you see, this is sort of a mess," the Doctor said, finishing his own, rather edited version of the tale Sirius had told him the day before. Merlin, he found, was a good listener, even though he didn't quite stay still for longer than five minutes; this, the Doctor didn't mind at all, being as he did much the same to people all the time — but the famous wizard was hyperactive to a fault. Kind of like the two the Doctor had picked up in 20th century London.

Another thing might be said about Merlin. He was hard as _anything_ to impress. Even after everything the Doctor had told him about the timelines blending into one another, about _holes_ being punched into the universe, about _universes_ melting into one, about the unnameable dangers that could pop up at any given moment, which could already be there, at any point in time, the wizard had only one thing to say.

"Mmm-hmm."

The Doctor ruffled his hair and sighed. Merlin had been full of questions earlier, about how the "witch-hunters", aka Torchwood (aka those bastards, according to James), had managed to get here at all; he was also deeply interested in his 'Grandchild' and what was wrong with him, especially the clucking — "I don't know _why_ he clucks, that's hardly important, get some perspective!" the Doctor had exclaimed — and how the said 'grandchild' and his 'nephew' had managed to master time-travel — "Oy, _I_ brought them here, _I'm_ the Time-lord!" the Doctor had groused — but now the Doctor had given him his point of view on the matter and illustrated everything the best he could, all he got was an affirmative sort of grunt while Merlin tinkered on with some amulet or other.

"Mmm-hmm indeed," the Doctor agreed conversationally. Now he had finished his tale to a most disappointing effect, he decided to have a mosey around at last.

He was presently standing in the most interesting room he'd ever seen… in this incarnation, at least. There was a monster of a contraption at the far end, which looked like a wardrobe (hopefully not going to Narnia, because that would just be too much) that in turn was connected to an equally enormous set of tubes and wires and… _things_. There was stuff here he'd heard about, or seen in his earlier years, but none of it quite fit in with what he was used to; he could maybe name some items, but most if not all of the contraptions and devices were buzzing and whirring with… _magic_. He could feel it very palpably, but he could not, for the life of him, define it. Or even properly describe it, and it was boggling him to no end.

If there was one thing the Doctor didn't like, was to lack an answer to _anything_.

He'd always found a scientific explanation — of sorts — to things he encountered in his many travels and adventures; he had managed to harness time and space and even had a _living_ spaceship— but he couldn't readily explain… magic. Yet this lot, these… _wizards_ , warlocks, witches, whatever— they used it with a simple flick of their fingers or — the Doctor still bristled inwardly at the notion — wands. Or staffs, very much like Gandalf's in the Lord of the Rings (he'd have to watch those films again in case he encountered the real deal), like he'd seen Merlin himself and Uther use yesterday to capture and disarm the Torchwood contingent. And _levitate_ Sirius to a room. And perform what could only be spells that escaped any logical explanation, even though for most of those involved in the… _casting…_ of the said spells, it seemed a quite natural and commonplace thing to do.

In fact, it seemed to him that without magic, they would be rather lost and stranded in the world, incapable of solving the simplest problem.

"You know," Merlin broke the silence that had stretched while the Doctor tentatively prodded at beakers and gears and curious little metal objects and assorted animal appendages lying around all over the place and wondered what they could be used for, "I have been working on a, shall we say, a little project for a while. I was attempting to harness time." He chuckled good-naturedly at the Doctor's sudden interest. "This is supposed to take me to the distant past and the far-off future," he added, striding swiftly to the monstrous contraption the Doctor hadn't gotten to poke at yet. "It's interesting that you should drop by here, and in such a predicament, too. It's encouraging."

"I'm sorry, but I don't see how anything I've told you so far could be _encouraging_ of all things."

"Well," Merlin said, in a tone of utter superiority that the Doctor had all but patented, striking his staff on the ground three times. The contraption shifted, as if it were assembling itself, to show… two giant hourglasses mounted inside the wardrobe of sorts, "just the fact that you're here, now, means that my time-device is going to work. It also means," he added, even as the Doctor wondered how that made sense at all, and why the hourglasses were almost empty, "that we'll solve this misspell, no harm done, everyone will be happy. You didn't land here by chance, and neither did my grandson or nephew. It's them we should focus on, don't you think?"

" _Weeell_ , an argument could be made for that, yeah..." He still failed to see how Sirius and James, coming from over a millenium later, could be either of those things. Merlin, though, didn't seem to give a care. His mind was made up. To him, they were related, and that was that.

"But first, we need to fix some of the, what do you call them? Ah, glitches. Interesting word, that. Has a strange, outlandish ring to it."

"There's a host of new words I could teach you that share that trait," the Doctor offered. "Inter-temporal inter-spatial vortex breach… remote control… telly, there's loads more where those came from—"

"Ah, young Master Black!" interrupted him this time, and he sighed again. This Merlin was so… unidirectional? Family oriented? Obsessive? "Care to come in? This is my very private secret workshop." Sirius had just passed the door, and he backtracked at the address. He looked much better already, which never ceased to amaze the Doctor, and had a large strawberry in his mouth, which vanished and was promptly replaced by an apple before he'd even switched directions and approached them. This last, the Doctor was used to.

"It's not so secret, sir," Sirius commented, looking around with interest and lingering on the hourglasses for all of a second before dismissing them. He seemed more interested in the trinkets lying around a work table. "It's rather too easy to find, there's no trapdoors or hidden tunnels or anything."

"Call me Grandfather, Sirius," Merlin chided gently, looking him over and playing the part of the grandfather surveying a favourite grandson; the only thing he was missing were a hundred or so years of age. "If you will. We are family, after all."

Sirius flashed him a smile that was more confused than anything… and tore a large chunk from his apple with a carefree, "Alright, then." He didn't seem to care much at all for this rather large — not to mention dubious — honour of being directly descended from the greatest wizard who ever lived.

"Besides, it's more comfortable if the place is easily accessible, don't you think? If I have an idea I want to work on right away, I don't want to waste hours getting here to work on it. I might forget what I wanted to do in the first place."

"Beats the purpose of a secret workshop, though. Everyone can get at it if there's no secret to it."

"I… honestly hadn't thought of that." Merlin frowned, and the Doctor bit back a snigger. Logic, then, was something wizards didn't have much of. "I like you," he added, grinning. Sirius shrugged and grinned back.

"So what do you do here, uh, _Gramps_?" Sirius asked. "Transfiguration and other… secret sort of stuff?"

"I work on the marvels of today and the wonders of the future," Merlin answered proudly. "I have begun on this Time-uh, manipulator, journeying, uh, device. Anyway, it's this one here—" he gestured at the hourglasses on their stand, all wired in.

"Time-turner," Sirius corrected, swallowing a chip. The Doctor frowned. Where'd he get chips from? "That's what it's called in our time. Might as well get the name right from the start."

"Ooh, Time-turner… I like the sound of it," Merlin said excitedly. "I've been looking for a suitable name for ages! This fits. It all fits, ey Doctor?"

"How's it work, then?" Sirius asked, stepping up to the hourglasses and giving one of them a poke. "Do you choose between minutes, hours, years or does it go in greater intervals, like centuries or ages?"

"I haven't quite managed to test it yet," was the answer. Merlin snapped his fingers and scrolls appeared in midair, unrolling themselves and growing larger. There were notes and diagrams of a sort the Doctor hadn't ever seen before. He squinted at the nearest one. Even with the TARDIS' translation, he couldn't make anything out from Merlin's untidy scribbles.

Sirius didn't seem to have a problem though; he gave each scroll a cursory look over, then lingered over the diagrams, while in the background Merlin chattered on, "I need to make Sands of Time; they're a recent invention of mine, but they, well. I have found they take a long time to make."

"Which is rather ironic, if you think of it," Sirius commented, snapping his fingers and making a quill appear.

The Doctor stopped trying to make sense of Merlin's notes and focused on the lad instead, as he made the diagram copy itself on the recently-conjured parchment.

"You'd think they should be quick about it, being Sands of Time and all…" Sirius was quiet for a moment, chewing on a liquorice wand while he added in his own notes to Merlin's diagrams and formulae. The Doctor peered over his shoulder. His eyebrows rose almost to his hairline.

If Merlin's handwriting was a scribble at best, Sirius' could be an archaeological subject; the Doctor couldn't really make heads or tails of the symbols and variables he was using, and even though he had learnt enough of wizardkind to not expect any algebra or physics or even chemistry, the kid's alchemical formulae were eerily similar to what he'd sometimes seen… in Gallifreyan upper education. Not that they meant the same at all. But they looked similar. If he squinted.

"Yes, well I haven't managed to prod them to go faster yet," Merlin admitted, watching Sirius keenly. "The process sort of stalls after six months, and then it's painfully slow…" It was clear he was full of questions but reluctant to interrupt, and the Doctor could plainly see the family air between the two just then; had they been at least fifteen generations closer, he'd have been able to pinpoint who Sirius got his impatience from. "Right now, I have enough for the one journey; I should have enough for the return in oh, five or six years."

Sirius let out a low whistle; the Doctor let out a groan.

"Blazing fast, that," he commented dryly.

"We could accelerate the process," Sirius told Merlin, never stopping his writing. "See, you're using too much Phoenix Ash; those birds really live long, but if you replace it with Dragonstones, you have a longer-lasting stabilising ingredient."

" _Dragonstones_?" the Doctor mouthed, confused, but went largely ignored.

"Powdered or ground?" Merlin asked at once. When did he get a quill too? The Doctor wanted one as well. Not to copy anything, he had photographic memory, but— just to look like he was in the loop, y'know. He snapped his fingers, but nothing happened.

"Blast," he muttered. No amount of snapping yielded any results.

"Neither, scrape it with a diamond blade and you won't lose the natural prismatic shape of the crystals," Sirius was saying, much to the Doctor's chagrin. Confusing the heck out of people was his job.

"And they stabilise the mixture better than Phoenix Ash? Are you certain?"

"Yeah, we put that in our paradox jar, the thing kept heating up at random, and developing twin timelines, to the side, like. And we wanted the Sands to keep under, y'know, weird circumstances."

"What do you mean, _weird_?"

"Explosions, direct sunlight, and um, getting jolted around. Maybe they could get wet, sometimes, y'know, surfing… Hey, it happens. And we shrink the jar too, because they're really quite heavy."

"Must be all the humours. I have been trying to get around using them, the smell they give off will make people think there's demons around." Both laughed, but the Doctor didn't see what was humorous about it. He gave Sirius a curious look now, but again, he went ignored.

"Excuse me…"

"Which is good for a joke, but if you put a long-lasting jasmine charm on the humours, mix it with one drop of ashwinder venom per dram, and leave it out on the first ray of the midsummer's crescent moon, you'll get a better smell out of it. They're still as heavy, though. At least there's no sulphur trail afterwards."

"Uh, if I may…?" But again, it was as though he wasn't even in the room. This, the Doctor was unaccustomed to.

"So," Sirius said a while, three pork pies and half a watermelon later, "if you change the process a bit, sort of like this, see…" He gave Merlin his newly-finished diagram. "Right here, decant a bit less, add in some solar flares in the drying process, and sift the resulting sands in Dragonstone, you can knock at least four to five years off your current process." Merlin's eyes flew across the parchment, and he looked like a child on Christmas morning, opening his first present. Next to him and looking quite the younger version of the wizard, Sirius was bobbing up and down on his toes every bit as expectantly as Merlin had been.

"Dominant genetics, I bet," the Doctor murmured under his breath. Sirius gave him a curious look. The Doctor shrugged. He'd forgotten the kid had sharp ears. _When_ he cared to use them, anyway.

"How do you _know_ all of this?"

"Got into your notes at the Ministry for Magic. You should use indelible ink, though… half of them were illegible, so I took the liberty and added to them a bit."

"There's a Ministry for Magic?" Merlin asked. "Hm. I should maybe burn my notes, just like I did for the Philosopher's Stone…"

"You mean it's real?" the Doctor was baffled. "I thought that was just a story!"

"Not just a story," Merlin replied smugly. "I've got one right here."

"Really?" Now Sirius looked as keen as he was hungry.

"Sure. You mean they don't have these in your time?" Merlin pulled a reddish, glowing crystal out of his pocket and showed it to Sirius, who shook his head, but accepted the stone from him. It was about fist-sized, and vibrating slightly with contained magic. The Doctor could make out a faint hum, as if it were singing to itself.

"And there I thought this one bloke, uh… uh… what's he called again… Flamel, yeah that's him. There I thought he'd made it, when all along it's been the same one—"

"I should like to ask him about copyright infringement," Merlin muttered, shaking his head. "That's just cheating."

"What's that then?" the Doctor asked impatiently. _Gah_ , but he hated not knowing things.

"The Philosopher's Stone," Sirius murmured, transfixed. "It's—" he cut himself off when the Doctor shone his sonic screwdriver all over it.

"A cryo-temporal meta-spatial condensed energy accumulator! Sorry, kid, I forgot you don't much like this," he told a cringing Sirius. "I use those as batteries for the TARDIS. Well," he amended, happy to have some input here at last, "backup batteries, for the kettle and such. You never know."

"It's the key to eternal life," Merlin corrected. "And eternal comfort as well; it turns lead into gold, you see."

"And runs time-machines."

"Maybe that's the key," Sirius said abruptly. "If it's got almost endless energy, then we could use it to fix the timelines."

"But … _how_?" the Doctor asked back. He hadn't thought of that. He _should've thought of that_ , by all rights this was _his_ area of expertise!

"Reverse the polarity of the central rip, it would put everything in place and cancel itself," Sirius answered matter-of-factly.

Merlin thought of it a moment, then nodded, "With the proper containment, you could work it, but only by getting into the rip yourself…"

"What?" the Doctor was a bit lost here. They'd gone off-topic, weren't they on about the cryo-temporal meta-spatial condensed energy accumulator just now?

"Yeah, but it would only take a tenth of a second. James' reflexes are twice as fast, and if we create a shielding field that withstands the rip for even longer than that, we could even be there for, dunno, a whole second before we'd be obliterated."

"You're correct, my boy," Merlin agreed, his eyebrows rising. The Doctor huffed to himself. Now, _now_ Merlin was impressed. And, it might be added, not at all concerned about the risk of obliteration Sirius had mentioned. "And such a shield we could devise specifically for that use…"

"And for the specific time-space lapse we'd need to place it in to seal the rip—"

"Wha?"

"We can make a scale model of a couple of galaxies, and test it on that first."

"We'd need a lot of those stones, though," Sirius pointed out, scratching himself behind the ear. He had even forgotten to gobble something for a full three minutes. The Doctor was sure it was a personal record for him.

"Well, how many do you need?" Merlin asked. Sirius frowned, confused.

"'Choo mean— There's more?" Merlin nodded. "Uh… well. Um. How many do you have?"

"I've got them by the box. I was going to send them off as Yule presents and such. To some close friends, mind."

"Nice one, Granddad Merlin," Sirius commented, grinning. "I thought there was just the one."

"Blimey, no," Merlin replied, all smugness once more. "This is just the one I'm using to make an amulet. There are many more in my secret store chamber."

"I just hope it's more secret than your workshop," Sirius replied, but the grin hadn't left his face.

"Oh Merlin, finally," Uther Pendragon walked in briskly, his untidy Potter hair standing up every which way. "I've been looking everywhere for you, I should've known you'd be here— Lord Black, it is certainly good to see you so swiftly recovered."

Sirius leaned in on Merlin, "See what I tell you?" he asked in a low voice. "Everyone. Anyone. In here, just like that." He gave him a look that plainly said 'Told you so.' Merlin raised his eyebrows in surprise. Aloud, he added, "Thank you, sir… Er, your…"

"Majesty," the Doctor hissed under his breath.

"Your Majesty," Sirius finished politely.

"Nonsense lad, just call me Uncle Uther. We're family, after all."

"Right…"

"We'll celebrate that fact, and that you're feeling better, with a banquet tonight…"

"I love banquets, thanks."

"Yes, son, we've noticed."

"He's carrying one in that sack of his right now," the Doctor threw in. Uther and Merlin chuckled.

"Just a little snack. I'm feeling peckish."

"Don't we all," Uther agreed with satisfaction, looking Sirius up and down. "Sadly, this might knock even your healthy appetite away."

Everyone was now looking attentively at him, and King Uther went on, "A messenger came in from the Western Marshes. They've spotted dragons arriving in the New Forest for the past three days. The townships there have heard them roar nonstop day and night. People are frightened, thinking it might be the work of witches."

Merlin chuckled, "It's just nesting season Uther, don't blow this out of proportion."

"Tell the Muggle bishopric that," Uther countered. "We need to do something about the dragons. If the Muggles call St. George over, he'll single-handedly put an end to the Welsh Green race."

"That's unfair. Can't they be sent to a reserve or something? A protected area, where they won't be bothered?" Sirius asked. A dragon fan, apparently. The Doctor wasn't surprised.

"It is difficult, they're very territorial," Uther replied. Hearing them talk about this, the Doctor thought, one might be led to believe they were on about deer or hedgehogs… It struck him as funny. "Besides, when they migrate it's an added problem, they tend to take their young to the Alps, over the sea."

"And they could be intercepted."

"Intercepted?" Sirius frowned.

"By whom?" the Doctor asked before Sirius could.

"A dark witch by the name of Morgana le Fey. She could use them to terrorise Muggles."

"Or wipe them out."

"Morgana, of _course_ ," Sirius said. "Is it all true then? She's like, the Voldemort of your time?"

"What's a Voldemort?" Merlin wanted to know. Sirius seemed to find it funny. "Is it like, a dish or something?"

"More like a bitter pill."

Everyone turned around, to see that James Potter joined them. Sirius exchanged a glance with Merlin and raised an eyebrow. His look just said, 'Ditto.'

"He's the Dark Lord of our time," James went on. "Hey, what's this place? Is it like a workshop or something? Groovy. Have you been making anything interesting?"

"It's Merlin's private and secret workshop," the Doctor supplied helpfully. James nodded to himself, giving the place a once-over much like Sirius had done. He picked up what looked like a half-finished piece of cameo jewellery.

"Doesn't seem very secret to me, it's like, right here off the main corridor, with a little sign that says 'Merlin's Workshop' on the door." James commented. "There's not even a trapdoor or a hidden passage. Anyone can just walk in and—"

"All right, all right! I get the message," Merlin huffed, snatching the unfinished amulet from James' hands. "I'll do something about it, now stop it with the secrecy."

"Fair enough," James and Sirius said in unison, and then James added, "I overheard something about dragons?"

Uther wasted no time filling him in, and by the time he was done, everyone was frowning, deep in thought. Except for Sirius. He was chewing and frowning at the same time.

"They _could_ be tamed," he suggested after a few moments. "Then they'd breed where we took them."

"But they're impossible to tame," Merlin reminded him. "They're the wildest, fiercest magical creatures in creation."

"I bet it could be done. We just haven't figured out how, really."

"Wha, like you tamed that Hebridean Black that once?"

"Mmmmno," Sirius admitted. "That was a mistake…"

"Oh _really_?" James' voice was dripping sarcasm. "I didn't notice, busy as I was being turned into its _lunch_!"

"Yeah, but you _weren't_ eaten, and it was very educational."

"Educational my ar—" James stopped short as Sirius cuffed him in the ribs.

" _Ahem_. Notinfrontoftheroyalty. So, what did that experience teach us?"

"That… dragons _can't be tamed_ , Black."

" _No_ , just that they shouldn't be _tickled_. I'm sure there's a way to do it. Taming them, I mean. Differently, like."

James gave Sirius a very sceptical look. Sirius rolled his eyes.

"Didn't you have to be somewhere, _Lord_ Potter?"

"Not really, no."

.

* * *

A/N: Let us leave these two to their planning for a moment, shall we… This could go on forever.

.

* * *

.

While these discussions were taking place in Merlin's very private and secret workshop of marvels and wonders, elsewhere things were happening as well. Things that would become crucially important in the very near, very foreseeable future.

In a dark, dank basement chamber, the Lady Morgana was plotting without much success.

She would one day be remembered by wizards and Muggles alike as the first Dark Lady of the ages, the one who would make even the famed King Arthur of Camelot tremble. But none of that was presently any of her concern. She was unhappy, for one. For another, she was rather bored and out of sorts. And her followers — who as yet were so few that she had to hire help — had learnt to stay well away from her when she was in a mood.

Everyone, that was, except for her favourite: Mordred. At barely fourteen, he was close to coming of age, and he too, was a wizard who shared her views and hatred of the happy, rowdy bunch at Camelot. He and Morgana shared similar views on what Wizardkind was all about — namely (you guessed it) subjugating Muggles or better yet, wiping them out altogether — they also shared a liking for Dark Magic, the same pointy noses and thin lips, an inclination for black pudding, and, most importantly, the same tempers.

Which usually meant much breaking of crockery and stamping of feet whenever they had a disagreement, only without the Greek singing as a backdrop.

However, today was not such a day — which was good, because they were down to the good dishes reserved for parties. Today, was a very special day for both of them; one that would propel their names throughout history as the darkest pair ever to live. One that would romanticise their every last deed and exploit in the eyes of the dark-minded and power-hungry of all times to come, and one that would make every last aspiring Dark Lord or Lordette try to obscure them with his/her/its own deeds for every age in the future.

Not to mention, it would put an end to Morgana's little pout. It was contagious.

"Hey, 'Gana," Mordred said, his footsteps echoing properly eerily off the humid, cold basement walls, followed by a patter of several pairs of feet. It is said that Dark Lords _like_ the dark and cold, and this notion too, comes from this pair and this; in reality, however, it wasn't a liking to dampness what made them meet here, but the leaks in the top floors of their house, which had rendered them inhabitable for the rainy season.

With all the expenses the vase-breaking entailed, Morgana hadn't been able to afford a proper thatching of the roof after her last angry fit. This was, of course, before the Dark Side was a profitable business.

Mordred, who still lived quite comfortably at home with his parents, privately believed it served her right.

"What do you want?" she asked in a bored, long-suffering drawl (did I mention she also set the drama standards for the Dark? Well, she did).

"I have news that will cheer you up," Mordred replied in his boyish tone that mellowed her three times out of every ten (and thus, was used at every chance). "There are new arrivals at Camelot."

"There are new arrivals there every other day," Morgana groused elegantly, a trait few have ever managed to match since. "I am sure they are having a splendid time there, all dry and well-fed and entertained by buffoons—"

"You should've gotten the thatcher, as I recall suggesting," Mordred said loftily. "Then you'd at least be dry and wouldn't have to pout here in the cold and wet. As for food, the rat stew's ready. Add a little seasoning, it'll taste just like chicken. And," he added, before she could complain, "I have brought you the entertainment you so crave." This cut her tirade short before it even began; Morgana's languid expression morphed into disgust at the mention of supper, and then into undisguised interest as she peered over Mordred's shoulder to look at the newcomer.

"Where is the entertainment, then?" she asked Mordred expectantly. He only shook his silver-blond mop of hair out of his eyes and stepped aside. "All I see is Severance, and he's hardly entertaining."

"Milady," Severance Prince greeted her in a tone that was as greasy as his dark, shoulder-length hair, which grazed a puddle on the stone floor as he bowed low in total subservience.

"Is this a jest, Mordred? If so, it's hardly entertaining."

"Not a jest, Morgana. It's a break in the clouds. You'll see."

"I was sent to spy on Camelot," Severance said, his sallow cheeks wibbling as he spoke. Morgana looked away. Gods, but he was disgusting. If he weren't a decent cook, she'd have fired him ages ago.

"Yes, I remember. What of it?" Was he going to report, the new treacle-filled cake he made for that twerp Uther and his little guests? He'd done so before, much to her undisguised anger, usually followed by the breaking of plates and cups.

"They have new guests, Milady… Most… unusual guests."

"Will you get on with it or will you bore me to tears?" Morgana shot impatiently at him. Severance flinched, Mordred snorted.

"Yes, Milday. Sorry, Milady." Severance groveled some more, but it did little to curb her impatience. "These guests are… from some other time. One of them is Lord Black," he added. Morgana yawned.

"That little rat has been bothering us for ages, but he's ten. Is that all?"

"No…" Severance Prince shuffled uncomfortably. "Lord Gryffindor is there as well… they… they seem to be from the future."

"The future?"

Mordred smirked. Morgana was definitely interested now.

"Yes, Milady… One more was with them. They called him the Lord of Time."

"Lord of Time?" she echoed. "I have not, I think, heard this title before. Who is he?"

"He looks like one of the Crouches from Devon, Milady."

"I should have been made aware he was getting a title," Morgana mused idly. "I haven't got one, and I should. But… the future… I do not believe I have heard of that before either. How long in the future do they hail from?"

"Not much, I don't think, Milady. The Lord Black looks fourteen, maybe fifteen at the most. I believe it is the young lord Black at the castle."

"Interesting."

"Yes, Milady," Severance allowed himself a grin that showed yellowing, crooked teeth. He was more comfortable, now she had almost, almost praised him.

"How do they travel through time?"

"Er." This he had not been prepared for; Severance paled, if possible, even further. "They, uh. Uh… they…"

"Yes? They, uh, what, exactly?" Morgana asked sweetly.

"They have a blue box, Milady!"

"Do they, now?"

"Yes, I saw it. It's uh, large, and blue. And made of wood. They all walked out of it for the welcoming feast!"

"A box. How quaint. Trust Barthold Crouch to be a lunatic."

Severance Prince smiled tentatively up at her. He was hoping, no doubt, for his interrogation to be over.

"Why would they come here _now_ , of all times?" Morgana asked nobody in particular. She tended to think aloud, but the greasy cook clearly didn't remember that.

"I overheard the Lord of Time—"

"Lord Crouch, if you please. One little time-trip isn't enough to make him a _lord_."

"Very well, yes— I overheard the lord Crouch," Severance amended hastily, "talking about a rip. Something ripped, anyway, not quite sure what, and—"

"What ripped, then?"

"His underpants?" Mordred suggested with a snicker. He'd been bursting to comment in some manner for ages now.

"No, not his underpants, Mordred," Morgana cast her pale blue eyes to the ceiling and sighed prettily. "I am certain that lord Crouch would not come to see Uther about torn clothing. Severance!"

The thin man jumped, "Y-yes, Milady?"

"What else did you find out?" Oh gods. Morgana was getting impatient. Mordred tried not to roll his eyes. There went the basement. "You overheard them talking, and…"

"He was banging on about a rip in… in something important. I cannot recall what."

"Severance Prince! Can't you get anything straight?" Morgana erupted. "For a third-generation spy, you leave a great deal to be desired. I pity the Dark Ones your descendants will serve in the future."

"My apologies, Milady. I shall strive to do better."

"Then tell things like they happened!" she shouted at him. "Is there more to this tale of yours or should we be intrigued by some ripped underpants?"

"There's more, yes…" Severance licked his chapped lips, clearly thinking fast. "There's more… The lord Black is under some sort of spell, cast by, by Muggles!"

"Muggles." One delicate eyebrow rose in disbelief. "I am in no mood for jests."

"Well, tis true!" Severance squeaked. Gone was his smile, replaced now by a rather panicky look. "I saw the Muggles myself, Milady! They just appeared from a far distant future, led by a woman—"

"Come on, you silly old goose. Even you don't believe yourself now," Mordred was losing his temper now, but clearly still thinking of the integrity of the basement so he limited himself to mocking. "Muggles _casting spells_? What's next, flying deer?"

"I saw them with mine own eyes!" Severance argued. "Witch hunters. They have a spell on the Lord Black, Myrddin is trying to find a cure—"

"Witchhunters casting spells? That's even better!"

"It seems like they managed to harness magic, Lady. They came out of a tunnel of wind and darkness, hailing from a far, distant future!"

"What sort of spell did they cast?"

"Morgana, surely!" Mordred argued, "Surely you don't believe a word of this!"

"Hush now, darling. I am talking."

Mordred's mouth snapped shut. He huffed under his breath and flopped down on a nearby barrel.

"That's better," Morgana said primly. "Now, Severance, where were we? Ah, yes. The spell these… Muggles of yours cast. What sort of spell was it?"

"A... clucking spell. Lady Morgana," Severance said gravely.

"Huh."

"He sounded just like a rooster."

"Huh."

"Honest. And then he just keeled over. The witch hunters wanted him handed over as a hostage," Severance went on, increasingly nervous at He glanced over to where Mordred was — he wasn't quite sure which one of the two was more dangerous— but he was having a sulk. "But King Uther… Well, he… he, uh. Ref-refused."

"I still have trouble believing you, Severance." Morgana gave him a sharp look. In the background Mordred muttered something in the affirmative. It sounded something like, "Well, _duh_."

"… However, I shall look into it." Morgana rose from her raised armchair and walked to a basin half-filled with something… briny. She tossed the contents out with a flick of her wrist. "Go now, Mordred, and get me a fresh goat, there's a dear."

"A goat?" Mordred echoed, exasperated. "Why always _goats_? You always need blippin' _goats_ , can't you need, oh I don't know, a bunny every now and then? A rat, maybe? They're easier to keep and don't bump you around—"

"Goat, I tell you. Don't make me tell you again."

"Going... going..."

"And you, Severance, you useless maggot. Go back to Camelot Castle, see if you can find out what ripped that is so important if you want to keep that nose of yours intact; if you fail me, every last one of your descendants will have large, crooked noses to go with your worthless name."

"Yes, Milady. At once."

"No, not 'at once', don't be stupid. It's supper time. Bring us our meal down first. With a great deal of… seasoning and spices. And hope you did not leave any paws or tails in the stew or I'll give your descendants crooked yellow teeth to go with their noses. Then go to Camelot and do your spying."

.

* * *

.

"So." After a rather heated debate about the docility of dragons, Sirius found himself doing something equally daunting. In fact, he'd quite prefer the dragon to coming down here. He surveyed Uther's handiwork, and found that the Camelot dungeon could easily compete with Voldemort's. And that it was eerily reminiscent of another, where he'd been locked up for weeks, getting 'tested' and… things. But now it wasn't him in a tiny little cell, was it?

Nope, it was _them_.

The more vindictive part of him revelled in the thought. The rest of him didn't quite like it, but he didn't let it show. Served Yvonne the Hag quite right, after all. She was a nightmare, one that should be put in a box and forgotten all about, just like she was now.

"So?" Yvonne got to her feet to greet her newcomer. She had to duck in the low ceiling of her dinghy little cell. This, of course, wasn't the case in the ample, well-lit corridor where Sirius was standing, having at a roast beef sandwich.

"How's Camelot treating you?" Sirius asked sweetly. "Are you quite comfortable here? Do you like the catering? The… view, perhaps?"

"I think you can see for yourself that this place is completely substandard. I order you to get us out."

"Chyeah, I think I won't," Sirius waggled his head. "But you're right, it's not quite up to par with the one you have at home, Yvonne. I mean, we have the wet and cold and cramped, badly-lit and worse-ventilated bits down, I reckon. But it's pretty dull down here, don't you think? I'll ask the head torturer to come over and provide you with some entertainment that will certainly match the one you have at Torchwood. So, no worries, you'll never even know the difference."

"Torture?" Yvonne echoed. "That is barbaric!"

"What do you call what you did to me?"

"Science!"

"Alright, I'll call our chief scientist over then so he can science you up too." Sirius turned on his heel and started walking. Just the sight of the hag was enough to make him want to try his hand at Unforgivables. But then, he idly mused, she was a walking Unforgivable herself.

And, hate her and her lot as he might, he needed them. Even Merlin hadn't managed to break that thrice-damned bracelet on his foot.

"You get us out of here! You get us out of here this instant!"

Ooh, nice. A screech.

Sirius stopped in his tracks and looked over his shoulder. Yvonne Hartmann, Torchwood's most feared torturing agent, had her face pressed into the bars of her cell. Sirius flicked his fingers, and some foul-smelling slime dripped down them. She didn't let go even after that.

"Or else what?"

"You will _pay_ for this, you little freak."

"You see, that's where I think you're wrong," Sirius replied, wondering, off-task, how he was managing to sound conversational of all things. "It's you who's going to pay. In full. Unless…" He turned around again and resumed his way back to the courtyard. "Meh, never mind."

"Unless what?" Yvonne's voice had acquired a rather shrill undertone to it. Sirius decided he liked it. He backtracked until she could glimpse him, grinned as insolently as he could and shrugged. "Unless _what_? _Tell me, kid_!"

"Get the thing off my foot, and we can strike a deal."

"What? Without any equipment? That's impossible!"

Well. At least she hadn't flat-out refused.

"Oh. Right. Well that's a crying shame, that is. I'll settle for the science then." Once again, he turned to leave. He hadn't gone three steps when Yvonne's — and another three voices — echoed off the walls again.

"No— wait! WAIT! Don't go!"

He smirked, but backtracked when they got too loud to comfortably bear.

"Yes?" Sirius pretended to be mildly interested in what they had to say, just barely enough to keep them wanting to please him and strike a bargain. Yes, so he was a lion; that didn't mean he hadn't been raised by snakes and picked up a thing or three from his family. Negotiation and manipulation tactics were just the tip of an iceberg of abilities he usually made a point of not using.

"We'll do it," Yvonne said in a rush. "Just… just don't kill us or anything."

"That's not up to me," Sirius replied. "King Uther runs this here show, not me. But if you really do it and take this crap thing off my foot, then maybe he'll be more inclined to set you free. Otherwise he'll accuse you of being witches and burn you at the stake."

"We need a special sort of lab… And our equipment… So we need to go home first, and then—"

"We have a TARDIS. Everything you need is there," Sirius replied. "If you deliver, and only if you do it and never bother us again, you'll be taken home. Otherwise, it'll be science every day until Uther grows bored with his research and leaves you to the Inquisition."

"No! No, please, kid. We'll do it." Ah, begging. He finally understood why his family liked to hear it.

"Okay, good." He shrugged one shoulder.

"Just… just no torture. Please." Merlin's frilly knickers, this _was_ fun.

"Eh, I'll see what I can do. The henchman is bored and looking for entertainment. No tellys here, no internet either. I really wonder what they do for fun other than maim people and burn them and stuff… But I'll see what I can do. See to it that you live up to your end of the deal."

He walked out of the dungeons, a skip in his step for the first time in ages. Finally, something was going his way. He didn't usually make a point of complaining about it— mainly because there was nothing anyone could do about it at all — but he didn't like being famished and on the run all the time. Or passing out like he did. Or clucking, what the hell was up with that anyway? Or, in fact, having been captured by Torchwood in the first place.

But now, at last, he could hope for improvement in every sense; he'd be rid of the bracelet, and thus the hunting and the constant feeling of near-starvation. Things would make sense again.

It _was_ something to feel good about, wasn't it?

He decided it was.

And he wanted to celebrate this milestone of sorts. Hmm, maybe Merlin's workshop held some manner of explosives? Or should he be a little less conventional in his celebration? Maybe lead Yvonne and her lot on for a bit?

He passed the guards on his way out, enjoying the way they saluted him like he was a king or something, and told them to go past the Torchwood cells every so often wielding large knives and sharpening stones.

"Make sure they can see and hear you, it'll be a blast," he said, and to judge by the mischievous looks on the guards' faces, they were pretty eager to play along.

"That should keep Yvonne entertained," he murmured to himself, rummaging in his sack for the pudding he'd saved for last and looking around the large courtyard as he ate; there were several little hovels along a side wall, next to what could only be the stables. It looked like Uther — _Uncle_ Uther — had like, a hundred or more horses.

Suddenly, Sirius had the best of ideas. He finished his pudding, and made his way to the haystack, evil grin smacked firmly on his face. Oh, this would be _good._

_._

* * *

_._

In the meantime, a very miffed James was grumpily stomping around the castle's back gardens. It was just his luck, that Sirius had gone and reminded him — as if he ruddy needed the reminder — to set things straight with Guinevere. And it was also his luck that the Doctor sided with Sirius, the bottomless pit of raving hunger, and told him in no uncertain terms he'd probably disappear from all worlds if he didn't make Guinevere fall in love with that sleeping potion, Arthur ruddy Pendragon. It was just his rotten luck that the prettiest-ever girl in this world _had_ to be his ancestor.

Maybe.

She _maybe_ was his ancestor.

Well, he _could_ sort of understand that bit; Potters were, as a rule, the very picture of charm and handsomeness and wit. And he was a perfect example of a Potter, irresistible to a fault.

So was Guinevere, couldn't Sirius _see_ that? Couldn't he see that James was in love here? That Guinevere was as irresistible as he was?

But noooo. Of course not. Guinevere, so Sirius said, was taken.

Sort of.

Gah.

What was wrong with a little loving anyway? She was fit, she liked him, it was only for a little while anyhow...

"No, I do not want to walk with you!" yanked him out of his musings, which were presently shaping up into quite the pity-party. He followed the raised — a bit shrill — voice that was music to his ears to a labyrinth of bushes, and slipped inside with his Invisibility Cloak over his head.

"But Gwen, you promised—"

James was now glad he'd gone invisible; he followed the labyrinth for a turns and twists, and ended up spying on a scene he hadn't quite expected: Guinevere was arguing with Arthur.

"Don't _Gwen_ me," she snapped back. "You, _Prince Arthur_ , you didn't come and rescue me! You were so late, and I was so scared, and I'm not walking with a lad who stands me up!"

"I was trying to get there in time—"

"Well Lord Potter _did_ manage!" she said heatedly, "now _there's a real man_ , not a boy like you. _He_ rescued me, so I have no intention of going anywhere with you."

James grinned. He was a _real man_! Who had ever said that before about him? Ah, he was in love.

"I said I was sorry! C'mon Gwen, let's talk it out—"

"Ever."

"Come _on_ , Gwen, be reasonable—"

"What is there to talk about or be reasonable over, Arthur Pendragon? Nothing, I tell you— Nothing! I shall have my Tuesday morning picnic with him, because he's brave and handsome, and he rescued me while you were partying and hadn't even noticed I was gone, and I want a real man taking me places."

"I could do all that," Arthur offered at once.

"No. I said no!" she huffed, furious. Hiding in the open, James couldn't but feel very smug.

He flattened himself against the bushes as Gwen stormed past him, leaving a very mixed-up Arthur behind.

It wasn't until later that he realised he'd have his work cut out for him. He couldn't safely date her, could he? Sirius' words came to mind, unbidden; she was his great-x2345676654 _grandmother_.

Gah.

And she didn't seem to have any interest in Arthur at _all_.

Gah, gah, gah. _Gah_.

James Potter then realised that he wouldn't be able to fix this on his own. He needed Sirius' help here, he wouldn't manage to succeed in Operation Granny otherwise.

He half wished he wouldn't.

Would Sirius be mad at him if he was just... outnumbered by her?

.

* * *

TBC.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: Sirius gets a duplicate. And a date, as does James. And pretty much everyone. James gets into trouble, Morgana hatches a plan, and the Doctor gets stalked.
> 
> You read? You liked? Now review so I can read something too.


	8. Tales of Camelot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter: Not everything I'd planned for this chapter played out quite the way I wanted it. I blame the goats. What does happen is: James discovers a plot, Sirius eats goo, James gets a date, the Doctor gets a Date, Morgana finds the TARDIS. The TARDIS has a laugh.

* * *

**Part 8:Tales of Camelot  
**

**A.k.A, Arthur and Guinevere**

**Morgana and the Doctor**

**Sirius and… Sirius.**

* * *

**The Tale of the World in Monochrome**

* * *

"What was it, third level to the left or to the right?" James wondered aloud, but there was no answer save for his own echoing words. He sighed. Why was it that when he had to give Sirius directions to wherever, he didn't mess up _once_ , but when he had to follow his own directions he invariably ended up going the wrong way?

He took some turns without managing to get his bearings back and sighed. All in all, these dungeons weren't so much unlike Hogwarts' own, and he was used to underground mazes… but somehow, he couldn't manage to get where he wanted to be. Namely, pestering Sirius for help with Guinevere. Or against her; if the plonker he called a brother wanted him _not_ to date her so much, he should at least be of some manner of help.

But was he _there_ when James needed him most?

_No_.

Where was he? Mocking the Torchwood lot, where by all rights, he should have been helping — nay, _protecting_ James from a potential inter-temporal, multi-dimensional, event of … possible _incest_.

Maybe.

James still wasn't even sure she was his great great great great-something-great _grandmum_. Oh gods of Quidditch…

Anyway!

Point in fact was, Sirius was specifically _not_ where he was most needed right now, and James was going to make his day hell for it. And hide behind him when Guinevere was nearby.

He walked a little further, his light footfall quiet as a ghost in the hallways born out of years of practice, and after a handful of turns and a couple of flights of stairs up — when had he gone so deep? — he finally heard a familiar voice.

"…Just… just no torture. Please."

Huh? James inched closer, instinctively keeping close to the walls.

And then he nearly fell into an open cell himself.

"Ow, dammit—" he muttered, raffling himself up and giving up any pretence of sneakiness. It wasn't even needed, after all.

"…I really wonder what they do for fun other than maim people and burn them and stuff," Sirius was saying, and then, "… I'll see what I can do. See to it that you live up to your end of the deal."

Huh? What deal was he on about? James frowned, back into sneak mode again. Sirius wouldn't ever strike a deal with that lot. Not. _Ever_.

But Sirius was already leaving, and James was about to follow, when, "You can't be serious, Yvonne," stopped him. One of the Torchwood — though Sirius liked to call them 'Torturewood' — agents said. He sounded anxious enough to make James stay put. "We can't hold up that sort of bargain, you know that!"

"Hush now, Tomlinson," Yvonne the hag hissed. "There's nothing else we can do, now can we? We promised to take the biomagnetic frequency transducer off, and so we will."

"But he'll—"

"Not complain," Yvonne replied confidently. James was around the corner now, so close he could almost see her blond hair in the torchlight. "He wants it off, we'll get it off. That is the deal."

"Yeah," another male said from further down. "It's hardly our fault if he snuffs it."

"Natural causes, as it were," a fourth voice chimed in. The others chuckled. James bristled.

"Naturally," Yvonne sounded smooth. "With that trioptic glycerinic retroneural biomagnetic vortex impulse transmitter in his head it's only natural he'd cop it. Hardly our fault."

Whadiwhasa?

James decided he'd heard enough. Whatever that retrothingy was, he needed to warn Sirius about it. In a blinking, his cloak was around his shoulders, and he hurried past the cells after Sirius, stopping only to make Yvonne's long hair tie itself in strands to the bars.

Her panicked screeching was a fantastic background music to his ears.

Now, to find Sirius…

Crossing the courtyard, James saw him. Again, he frowned; Sirius had been dressed in a black doublet, not a red one… And, he established upon coming a little closer, he used to be rather taller last he saw him. Could it be the whatsitsface thing the Torchwood lot had been on about? This Sirius was less like the Sirius James was accustomed to and more like a midget. And he was leaning against a stable door, looking in and completely oblivious to the world around him.

"What are you doing with my face?" the midget asked. James' eyebrows rose, even the voice was different. It was the same timbre, but it sounded… different. Younger, somehow. Had Sirius gotten himself de-aged again? He'd babysat him enough for a lifetime when they'd gotten into Salazar's stuff at Hogwarts already…

Well, he mused, sticking his hands in his pockets, even de-aged Sirius could be of help with the present problem. Sirius was Sirius no matter his age, after all.

He was honestly surprised when he heard Sirius' voice answer: "Nothing yet. But I _could_ do something with it, if you want it rearranged."

The midget Sirius seemed to be amused. He shook tar-black hair out of clear grey eyes, exactly like Sirius did, and his laugh too, was identical. If a bit more squeaky and girly-sounding. He couldn't be older than ten, James decided, shedding his cloak. But, and this was amazing — just a bit, he had previous experiences with Harry to compare— the kid was identical to Sirius to the last detail.

"You're welcome to try," he said, grinning confidently as he reached into a pocket. "But my face wouldn't be the one rearranged. I once charmed Rubelius' nose—" But what happened to Rubelius' nose, and who Rubelius even was, were lost on James. There was a loud commotion everywhere all of a sudden.

It all started with a loud… _BANG_.

James, the midget Sirius and Sirius all whipped around towards the source of the noise, identical looks of expectation on their faces.

"That wasn't mine," James established, when the smoke started coming from the upper floor of the castle. There were startled shouts as well, and some serving girls were hurrying to the well, for water no doubt…

"Not mine, either." Sirius had poked his head out of a stable window, and was scanning the courtyard at large. Alarm bells started to toll next, and suddenly there were more cries, this time from the dungeon area.

"No! No, back off and don't _touch_ that!" was followed by loud braying. James snorted.

"Donkeys? That's…" Sirius commented, leaning curiously out the window, the better to see.

"… Mine," James finished for him, crossing his arms. Sirius gave him a questioning look. "I lost my way in the dungeons," he added for an explanation. "So many corridors… I had to put markers around the place."

"I know what you mean, I left them a few presents down there myself." Even as he spoke, the ground started to shake.

_BANG YAY YAY YEEEHAW BANG RAT-TAT-TAT BANG!_

Everyone minus Sirius —the _proper_ one, in James' mind- ended up flat on the ground, covering their heads.

"Looks like they opened them," he commented, snickering. "Oh get up, James you dolt. It's just some fireworks."

"Aaaah get it off me! _Get it offff_!" came from the depths below.

"Okay, some move around and grab you," Sirius amended. "But still, just fireworks. Nothing to worry ab—" _SPLAT_.

Everything went blue.

From the upper floors of the castle, a huge blue blob erupted, half cloud, half gooey _something_ , engulfing the courtyard, the stables, the horses — everything.

"Out." Sirius finished in a deadpan tone, even as people started pouring out of the castle, some screaming and frightened, others — most notably, the wizards and witches of the place — more annoyed than anything. Some were even amused. "Not mine, that one."

"It's not mine eith—" James started, but he was interrupted mid-sentence.

"Mine," said the young voice squeaky voice of Midget Sirius behind them. He was only half splattered in blue, the teeth grinning up at them both were stark white, and the eyes shining with mischief were such a clear grey they looked like diamonds. The creepy sort of diamonds. "Seriously though, what _are_ you doing with my face?"

"Reminds you of someone, doesn't he?" James asked conversationally, looking between the older Sirius and the young one. Gods, but they were identical. Talk about dominant genetics. "What's your name, midget?"

"Watch who you're calling a midget," came at once. Sirius' and James' eyebrows rose in unison and astonishment at the sudden change in the kid's demeanour. He puffed himself up proudly — which was quite a bit, even despite the bucketful of blue goop all over him he managed to make an impression — and drew his wand, an elaborately carved ebony affair James had seen before, many times, in Sirius' — the proper Sirius' — hand. "I am the lord Sirius Odin Pendragon Black, of the First House of Myrddin!" The Midget Sirius squeaked as he waved his wand around forcefully.

"That's a mouthful," James commented. Sirius shrugged.

_Hush, you'll only make him mad,_ he told him with a pointed look.

_Like I used to make you mad? Sirius Orion Hellion Soren Pendragon Black of the Smoked Kipper and the Frozen Eel?_ James retorted with a shrewd glance of his own.

Sirius rolled his eyes. _Exactly like that, Potter. 'S not our fault we get saddled with a bedtime story of a name, now shut it._

… _And Prince of the Snow-capped Mountain Peaks of the Great Snowdonian Shores…_

_Shut it. Snowdonia has no shores._ Around them, the blue smoke started to turn into a miniature tornado, which lifted some of the people running around like headless chickens a few feet in the air, whirling them about like… well, stuff tornadoes blow away.

_It did when you flooded it…_

_I was_ bored _. Now shut it._

"And you'd do best not to forget _that_!" Sirius Odin Pendragon Black yelled over the din. James then realised his best friend's lung power was also inherited. Interesting, how that worked.

Sirius watched him thoughtfully for a moment, as though he were weighing his options, even as James looked ready to start mocking, and all the while the people in the tornado spun round and round. Some were whooping and cheering even, but then, as this was a time long before wizards had to be careful not to catch Muggles in their spells, nobody was really making a fuss over it.

"I won't," Sirius promised solemnly.

"Good," The midget flailed his arms around in a huff, and there was a collective thudding of people dropping to the ground, pointed by a loud, " _OW_!" that came from rather too close by. Sirius Odin Pendragon Black looked behind him to see what had happened, his earlier outburst completely forgotten. There, holding his nose and glaring in a most familiar manner was…

" _Snivellus_." Sirius spat it out, already striding forward. What the hell was he doing _here_?

"You bwok' mah nowwws!" Snivellus howled furiously, eyes watering as he raffled himself up, wand already shooting sparks. Lord Sirius Odin Pendragon Black backed away sharply.

"It was an accident," he explained. "I didn't see you were behind me."

"You sdubbid liddle dwebb!" Snape shouted, spraying them all with spittle and nasal blood. "You'll bay fod dis— Cdu… Coo…"

Sirius and his duplicate both cocked their heads as one. James frowned. All three waited for Snape to get his words out. Four, if you count Snivellus' wand. It was the only one with patience.

"Dabbit. Cwoo… Cdoo… Cru… aha! CRUC—"

" _Whoa_!" Sirius yelled.

"Hold it!" shouted James.

In a blinking, the now alarmed Lord Sirius Odin Pendragon Black was swept behind James, and Sirius grabbed Snape by the collar of his robes, which hadn't escaped the splattering, and slapped his wand away before the curse could out.

"Gods, you're slippery," he said through gritted teeth. The gnashing sound in the background, though, was coming from James. He was a grinder. "What the hexing hell are you doing here?"

_Let me have at him!_ James was all but shouting in Sirius' head.

_I saw him first. Stand in line, Potter._

_No fair. Your_ _ **ancestor**_ _started it, your turn's **over**. _

_How does that make any sense?_ Sirius looked at James in confusion. _He got his go, now I get mine, because I saw him first, and then_ you _can have a go…_

_I am underrepresented in this time!_

_Want to call the king in? Lord Potter of the Gryffindors? Maybe you can have a go after the whole court has-  
_

_Fine, fine, make it quick then. Sheesh._

"What's your name, then?" Sirius asked aloud, batting the man's hands away from his face. "Hey… That's weird… It's not quite _him_ , this one's older," he told James, who rolled his eyes impatiently.

"Who _cares_? He tried to curse your— the Lord _Thingy_ here!"

"The nose looks all right to me," Sirius stated, his attention back on the not-quite-Snivellus. "It's all properly crooked and everything."

"Looks like an improvement from here," the Midget Sirius — er, sorry, the Lord Sirius Odin Pendragon Black — chimed up from behind James. James decided he liked the kid.

"De liddle basdard b'oke mah nows!" the older Snivellus raged. "Ah will whib hib fffod budishbed!"

"Really, now?" Sirius retorted, snorting. James chuckled.

"What's he on about?" the Lord Sirius Odin Pendragon Black asked James at a whisper.

"He's saying he wants to tan your hide," James translated. He got a confused look in return. "Y'know, tear you a new one?" Midget Sirius blinked at him uncomprehendingly. James let a very deerlike, very impatient snort. "He wants to whip you for punishment. Don't worry," he added, when the Midget Sirius flinched behind him. "We won't let that happen."

"Ah will whib _you_ fod budishbed," Sirius mimicked. "Don't you know who you're addressing?"

"Really," James added. "It might not go well for you. The Lord uh, Sirius Odin Pendragon Black here is right, it's an improvement from where I'm standing."

"But if you prefer, I can realign it. Allow me," Sirius offered, landing a sound punch in this Snape-look-alike's face. There was a loud _crack_ , followed by an almighty howl. "There, much better. Don't you agree?"

"My turn," James said at once. "I want to realign it too."

"By all means, Lord Gryffindor. Here, hold him steady. He's rather slippery."

"Why thank you, Lord Black."

_Crack_!

"And now, it's Lord Sirius Odin Pendragon Black's turn. So you learn never to curse hi—" Sirius was getting into stride, but was also interrupted, this time by squealing.

"SDOB! SDOB!" Not-Snape yelled, wriggling free of James' hold and scrambling for his wand— Only to find James' glowing wandtip all but pushed up his nostril.

"You'd do best to leave now," he snarled. "And forget even trying to hex him again. You've been warned."

Snape raffled himself up and fled.

"Did you have to let him go? It was his turn!" Sirius gestured at his carbon copy.

"I don't want a go," the kid said.

"Well in such a case as this, you say 'I'll pass' and forfeit your turn in order to let me go again," Sirius explained patiently.

"All right, I shall remember next time. But I shall always pass with him. Severance Prince gives me a fright."

" _Severance_?" Sirius and James chorused with identical surprised laughs. Lord Midget Black nodded sheepishly. They looked at each other, cottoning on at the same time. "His _ancestor_!"

"Ah, imagine if we wiped _him_ out from this time," James crooned.

"I _should've_ had another go," Sirius added dreamily.

"It's actually still his turn," a voice said behind them. King Uther had arrived.

Well.

It was a passable copy of the king; all splattered in blue as he was, it was hard to tell if it was the real deal or not.

"You, my young Lord, should use your turn to clean this up," the King told the Midget Sirius. "Amusing though it is to be blue, dinnertime is due in a short time and we'd appreciate if our food wasn't covered in this gooey substance."

"Wait a sec— you did the _kitchens_?!" Sirius the elder shouted in alarm.

"Um… I should think so. Why?"

"Start with the kitchens, Lord Black," James advised, pushing the boy in the right direction. "Like, _now_. I put a little something away, y'know, for emergencies, so don't even panic," he added to his Sirius before he started to hyperventilate, pulling a roast chicken from his pocket. "Just brush off the lint, yeah? Oh. Too late for that, eh? Well, chew it slowly and it might last— Never mind that, then. Here's a beef pie."

"You never answered my question, though," the little Sirius said.

"You're still here?" James asked, now rather alarmed as well.

"I just want to know. Who _are_ you?"

"Haven't you guessed yet?" Sirius asked back, now holding only half a pie and in a much improved mood. He winked, "I am you, as a matter of course."

" _I knew it!_ " The little Sirius grinned and dashed off, whooping ecstatically. King Uther excused himself, having decided to supervise the dinner preparations.

"That's a lie," James said, watching the Midget Lord go. "Why would you lie over this?"

Sirius shrugged one shoulder.

"I just know my family tree."

James watched him patiently. He didn't know Sirius' family tree, after all, something Sirius often seemed to forget. That was one Black trait he'd never lose, no matter what: they all implicitly believed their history was — or, in the more arrogant cases, _should be_ — known by everyone.

"Well… What did you want me to say? I'm sort of your descendant, only sort of _not_ because you won't get to see next Christmas?"

"Oh. Didn't know that he'd…" James jabbed a thumb in the tiny Sirius' direction. Sirius nodded grimly.

"In a freak accident of some sort. After the Yule next year or so."

"In that case, you have a point, mate."

"'Course I do. As usual. Nobody should know about how it's going to end. It's not really fair, is it, and he's like, _ten_." Sirius polished off the rest of the pie carelessly, then added, "He's too young to figure it out, and I don't think he ever will. He won't get the time to, will he. You got anything else on you? I wouldn't say no to that mulled wine of yours…"

"Here. That's all I got left," James replied, handing over some cold beef, but his spirits were brought down. The madness over the past few minutes had wiped the conversation he'd overheard in the dungeons right out of his mind, but now he was thinking about death and just how much death _sucked_ , especially a Sirius' death, it was back.

"Help me out here," Sirius was saying, however, sloshing through a mass of blue goop as he went back inside the stables, completely oblivious of the impending demise they needed to prevent. James followed musingly, wondering how to bring it up to Sirius when he was in such a good mood. Or not quite; he'd grown fond of that first Sirius of the Black line, as had James… And he was trying to do something to keep the nastier bits of the kid's life —or death— out of his mind. They had learned the hard way that such things couldn't just be stopped.

"Man… what _are_ you doing here?" James asked when Sirius picked a wooden shovel from a corner.

"Cleaning up the mess, there's something I want you to help me with."

"Oh _no_! Look! _Just look at the hay_!" James pointed at a stack in the corner, horrified. It was completely drenched in the blue goop.

"We'll get the goo off, and it'll be good as new," Sirius said soothingly. "It's just a little—"

" _Ruined_! When I see that kid again, I'll wring his neck and he won't even get to see _this_ Yule! There's limits to pranks!"

"C'mon, it's not so bad. The goop tastes just like chicken. Have you tried it?"

"You're _eating that_?!"

"I'm…" Sirius had the decency to look abashed. A glob of the unidentified blue substance dribbled from his hands to the floor.

" _Don't say it!_ "

"But I'm _really_ , really h—"

"No, no, _no_! You're not eating that _stuff_! And I'm _not_ going near that hay! I'll have more brought in, this is unacceptable." James stamped outside in a huff. "Stablekeeperrrrrr! Oy! You there, trot yourself over here, _now_!"

"You sure dig this lording thing, don't you?" Sirius asked when James came back five minutes later, into a pristine-looking stable. Even the horses were happily munching on only slightly teal-coloured oats.

"Yeah, well. It's handy. 'Choo up to?"

"This here. For the lot downstairs." Sirius stepped aside from his creation, so James could have a look. "They seem awfully bored."

James had a look-see and burst out laughing.

"Is that—"

"Yeah."

"And that's a—"

"Oh, _yes_."

"Wicked! And those are…?"

"Yep."

"Do you think they'll like the _entertainment_?"

"I… I[m not so sure about that, no," Sirius admitted. "But I know that _I_ will."

"As will I. We should get your duplicate to tag along. He can learn a thing or two."

"All right, let's finish this then…"

For the next few minutes, they worked in a near silence. It was all, "Pass me more dung," and, "Hold the head up higher," and, "What was the freezing charm incantation again? The timed one?" Until at last…

"What went on with Artie and his girl?" Sirius asked, adding some finishing touches to his masterpiece. James looked up from where he was putting flames into jars and putting little name tags on them before handing them to Sirius.

"She was dumping him when I went to see her," James answered, and told him all about his close encounter. By the time he was done, Sirius was frowning in thought.

"How are we working that?" He asked at length.

"Man, I dunno. I could be a berk to her."

"Give it a whirl, but something tells me that's just not the thing of it."

"What else _can_ I do?"

"Well, you _did_ rescue her from near-death…"

"Technically, we both did?"

"Not to her, we didn't. To her, well. _You_ did. That's… kind of a little bit of a bigger deal than buying them a drink or voting for them during the wet t-shirt contest."

"Yeah but she's…"

"At your nine o'clock."

"Wha?"

"Um, good day," Sirius said instead, waving a hand behind his back to make a large clump of hay — James' _freshly cut_ hay, dammitall — cover the pranking masterpiece they'd been working on.

"How do?" Guinevere greeted them excitedly, curtsying with a dazzling smile. She looked nothing like she had last James had seen her, when she stormed off to do some embroidery or something. She had washed, and changed into an extremely… _enticing…_ dress with a deep… cleavage of… utter irresistibility.

Gods, but _why_ was _she_ off-friggin- _limits_?

_Great-great-great-_ _ **gran**_ _! Think frills and wrinkles!_ Sirius' voice shouted in his head. Gah, that stupid mindlink.

_But… But…_

_Get a hold of yourself! Berk! Be-A-Berk!_

" _Meep_." James managed.

_Berk! Now!_

_I'm tryinnnng!_ James was suffering. He hated being mean to girls. Because, well, he liked them. A _lot_. And usually, they liked him back, even if Sirius maintained he had poor taste. Sirius was just too picky, which was weird because he could hound girls like the best of them when he felt like it… And with pretty much any result he desired, which James secretly envied him.

But it was a while since Sirius had hounded anything except eateries. And now, James had to make the _one_ girl he really, really, _really_ liked aside from Lily… hate him, or worse, lose interest in him.

_If we don't get it done, your bloodline will change dramatically._ Gah, couldn't Sirius get out of his head? It was hard enough without him playing prompter. _Think of yourself with acne. Think freckles and moles. Think wavy brown hair! You wouldn't be **you**!_

_Okay, okay. I'm sold._

_Good, sheesh._

"What are you doing?" James asked, in his best demeaning tone. It was good; Guinevere stopped in her tracks. "Can't you see we're busy here?"

"I… I just wanted to see you, lord James…" she said, confused. Of course she was! Gah, he'd been _nice_ to her last time, and this morning over breakfast as well — but she was his _gran_! Of sorts.

_Maybe_.

"I don't see what for," James answered coolly. He was inwardly thinking of Crazy Doris and Pimply Patsy, and how he'd treat them if they dared to jump him. "Why don't you go back to your sewing or something?"

" _Sewing_?" Guinevere echoed, shocked. "Do you think _I,_ Guinevere of Carmelide, daughter of King Leondegrance, am a common _seamstress—_ "

"Er… no, not at all," James was alarmed at the sudden outburst. In the background, Sirius facepalmed.

_They're all pretty big on big names and titles, aren't they?_ Sirius chuckled in his head.

_Shut up, Sirius._

"Then _what_ , pray tell, do you _take me for_?"

"I… Ahem." James straightened up at Sirius' unspoken prompt, "I merely thought it would be a fitting occupation for you, rather than disturbing _me_."

"Is that so?" Gods of Quidditch and the Holy Snitch. She looked so pretty when she was furious, all flared nostrils and pouty lips, blushing deep red and glaring at him so… so…

_Focus, Prongs!_ Sirius rolled his eyes. Of all the times for James to get the Potter Inarticulate Stuttering Syndrome… also known as the PISS.

"Uhm. Yes. It is so. I… I think. I'm actually pretty sure it is so. Yes."

"I shall disturb you far beyond whatever it is you are doing in this stable, _sir,_ " she snapped back. "You, _Lord Potter_ , will be getting out of this boring castle."

"You're kicking me out?" James was dumbfounded. Guinevere rolled her eyes.

"You, sir lord, shall take me for a picnic, tomorrow morning. _Whether_ you feel like it or _not_." That said, Guinevere patted his bum, gave it a little pinch that made James jump, and swept out of the stable with a regal, "Good day to you. And to you, Lord Black."

"Ta," Sirius waved. Her dress had hardly whipped around the door, when he fell about laughing. "That went well," he managed between guffaws.

"Oh… _Sharrup_." James ruffled his hair in frustration. What was he going to do now?

"I can just see it," Sirius went on. "I'll be best mates, nay, _blood-brothers_ with this freckly, red-haired, gangly kid named something like… Like Ronald Weatherby or something. You'll see when you turn into him."

"No! I can't lose my perfect Potter features!"

"You're already _having a picnic with her_! Next step is a wedding — if she waits long enough for it, which I doubt — and you'll cancel yourself out. Or become your own great-great-great-great-times-a-million grandfather. Like _that_." Sirius snapped his fingers in front of James' nose. James gave a small jump.

"There has to be something we can do!" he exclaimed desperately.

"Yep. I'm _sure_ there _has_ to be something."

"But _what_?"

"I have no idea," Sirius grinned widely at him. The bastard was _enjoying_ it! How _could_ he? This was so… so… _serious_!

"You _don't know_?" Now James was alarmed.

"I appreciate the brilliant complexity of the problem, but that doesn't mean I have a solution to it."

"So glad I've got _you_."

"Let's just get her back on track." Sirius clapped James on the shoulder, then turned to the -now utterly unimportant- prank concealed under the hay.

"Track? Wha?"

"Make Artie more appealing to her. Give us a hand, there's a good man. Grab the legs, and mind the fire imps..."

" _Can_ it be done? Honestly, the bloke's a sleeping potion." _And I'm so, so lost._

_No, you're not. You're right here. And,_ "We'll have to try. It's either that or a disturbance that gets her off her picnic idea."

"Is there something big enough to make her change her mind? Maybe a bomb—"

"Explosives aren't invented yet, mate."

"Thanks for your invaluably useless help," James muttered, downcast. He didn't really expect Sirius to clap him encouragingly on the back.

"C'mon, let's go to the kitchens and grab a bite, I'm sure we can figure something out to get her to like Artie again and forget all about you."

"Can't you stop thinking about food for like, _one_ second?" James muttered miserably, but he knew Sirius _couldn't_ , and he also knew how he got when he went without food for over half an hour, so he allowed himself to be led first to the dungeons to drop the recently-finished masterpiece of pranking off, then to the kitchens — which were thankfully clean and smelling of the most mouth-watering smells ever to have reached his nose. Everywhere he looked, there were trays laid out for the banquet…

And Artie, as Sirius liked to call the bloke, was laid out in a corner, all but draped over a table full of bottles.

"You knew he'd be here?" James asked Sirius, frowning.

"After what you told me, it was just logical he would… he's having at the cider," Sirius replied matter-of-factly. "Hi, Rosie," he told a young, cheerful witch who was presently charming cheese into being and sticking it into floating rolls. She smiled at him, a tad too brightly James thought, and floated a large platter of goodies Sirius' way. "She's the pastry chef," Sirius whispered at James. "I'm seeing her after the banquet," he informed. "She's bringing some buns filled with roast... I am in love."

"She's not your great-great-great-gran or something?" James groused. Why could Sirius be in love and not him?

"Nope. No Black's ever married a Templeton."

"I _hate_ you right now, you know?" James muttered. Sirius nodded but didn't look particularly disturbed by the idea.

"He's completely snockered," Sirius commented, watching Artie snoozing on a table. He reeked like he'd taken a swim in a barrel of alcohol.

"Do you think it can be done?" James asked.

"Wha, getting drunk?"

"Getting Gwen to like _him_ ," James specified impatiently. "I mean, would _you_?"

"I don't know if I could answer that," Sirius replied musingly, watching Arthur appraisingly. So did James, only he was hating every dirty-blond strand of hair, every inch of wine-splattered cloth on him. "Nope, I can't, actually. I don't roll that way."

"I'm _serious_!" James hissed, but instantly he was kicking himself for his blunder. Sirius tried to resist answering for a grand total of two heartbeats. He grinned past his mouthful of apple roll.

"No. _I_ am."

"Shut up, Sirius."

"I love you too."

"Wha's yeh doin'ere?" Arthur was looking blearily up at them both and tried to glare at James, who winced. The bloke was so drunk, he was flammable. Sirius, though, grinned.

"Hello, Artie," he said brightly, pulling up a stool and sitting down in front of him. "How's things? Mind if I have some of that cider?"

"Lousy," Artie complained. "Gw—Guin— Genvierere. She dump'd me. Ssshe dos'n' luv me 'nymore."

_And she never will again, at this rate_ — James bit his lip with worry. Sirius, though, poured out two goblets and handed him one, with the very sort of charm and confidence James himself had lost.

_Och, come on Prongs — we'll put this right in a snap._

"What if I tell you we," Sirius turned to Artie and gestured between James and himself, "can help you get her back?"

"Wuzzat?" Artie looked blearily at Sirius. Sirius gave him his brightest, most winning smile. The sort that had anyone of a female gender —and some males too— at his feet in a blinking. Artie wasn't really the exception.

"I said," he replied quite clearly, leaning forward and thus causing Artie to do the same, "we can help you get Guinevere back. James is very sorry she is so very attentive towards him, and wishes nothing more than to rectify that error. Would you accept our assistance?"

* * *

Let us now leave Arthur to dissect Sirius' words and move on to a far darker, danker place… which is presently filled with the smell of goats.

* * *

**The Tale of Elaine the Paine from Aquitaine  
**

* * *

Morgana peered into her scrying basin and huffed. It was only half full. Why did it take so long to fill? It was a simple thing, really, get a goat, extract the scrying fluid, fill the basin. But Mordred was taking _ages_.

In the background, Mordred was in a rotten mood, extracting the fluid that was oh-so-important for her scrying to be successful amid the mixed baleful and frightened bleatings of a black goat, a black-and-white goat, a brown goat, a grey goat and an all-white goat.

"Hold still, you pea-brained beast," he muttered angrily, holding what one day would be known as an eye-dropper, in its rather enormously over-sized version and trying to stick it in the proper goat orifice for the extraction.

"It's hardly surprising they don't like it," Morgana said languidly. She loved Mordred to pieces, but sometimes she felt like blasting him up into them. Like now. Those Malefois, they were all so _impatient_. And whiny. "If you were a bit gentler with them when you extract their—"

"Get some other animal then," Mordred interrupted. "Can't you use Flobberworms? They're so easy to look after—"

"No, no. No. _Only_ goats will do, mark my words. _You_ are the apprentice here," she replied. "One day, _all_ dark wizards will use goats to scry and create spells. You'll see."

"Yeah, but goat _spit_? You know there are far more productive ways to use goats. Why not goat milk, for example? Or goat blood? At least it would be faster than getting your ruddy basin full of slobber."

_Hm. Goat blood. Hadn't thought of that one,_ Morgana realised, frowning.

"Keep at it," she decided anyway, making a mental note to look into the blood thing. It would work as well, it would look loads darker and frightening, and it would _also_ fetch them a good supper or two… besides goat horns were good for other things, and their hides could be used to make blankets and the sort… She didn't use the milk as a rule, because it was good for her beauty baths. And for drinking and making cheese, sometimes _after_ she had bathed in it (although she would never tell Mordred that, he loved goat cheese). The rest however… maybe it wasn't such a bad idea. The spit thing was dreadfully time-consuming, not to mention, her scryings were always blurry, slimy, and full of bubbles.

She decided to go for a walk, thus allowing Mordred to fill the basin in his own time. She needed some fresh air, and hopefully would find a dull-enough thatcher who'd take payment for the roof in leprechaun's gold.

In the end, she found neither fresh air — it was Dunging Monday, so everyone was rolling cartloads of animal poop to the fields — nor a thatcher, dull or otherwise. Instead, she happened across something far, far more disgusting, and later, across something far more interesting.

First, she almost knocked into Severance, who was running as fast as his bony legs would carry him, his already filthy and greasy self made worse by a bucketful of what looked like congealing blue goat-spit thrown over his head, holding both hands to a bloodied face and sobbing out curses in a barely understandable Old Saxon (which will here be reproduced as barely understandable English, to avoid confusions).

"Watch where you're going!" Morgana warned, stepping aside just in time to avoid a collision.

"B'lady!" he sputtered, skidding to a halt and almost managing to avoid splattering her with blue and red. Morgana stepped further away from him, sneering in disgust.

"What happened to you?"

"B'lady, dat basdard Black b'oke mah dows! A' de odda basdad Black b'oke mah dows doo! A' dat Bodder basdad b'oke did id agaid—"

"I sent you to spy on them, not to get into fights with them!" Morgana chided. "Did you _at least_ find out what ripped?"

" _Dibe_!"

"What's that, "dibe"?"

"Dibe, da's wha ribb'd."

"Sorry. I couldn't catch that. Come again?"

" _Dibe_ , b'lady. Dibe!" Severance wailed.

"I am losing my patience, Severance. And stop spraying me with your filthy muggle blood."

"Dibe! _Dibe_ ribb'd! I sby'd a' he'd 'eb say dibe ribb'd, a'd de dibe lo'd, lo'd C'ouch wuz all wo'ed be-c'cause de udive'se is collabsi'g, a'—"

"Severance Prince, you are a _disgrace_. You're not making any sense, any sense at all! Speak clearly, and get those hands off your fa— never mind, keep them on there, you're bleeding all over me. Now, _slowly_. What. Ripped?"

Severance wailed in frustration, but he did as he was told. He took a deep breath, and, letting out a steady spray of blood, goo, and spittle, he tried to explain yet again, what he'd overheard.

" _Dibe_ i' wha's ribb'd," he said, as clearly as he could manage. Which, as you may have seen, wasn't much. "De dibe lo'd, Grouch, 'e said da' dibe is collabsid, collabb…sigg, a' da de udivedse is doo. A' Bedlid said da' 'e's god a dibe bachid, a' Black said 'e wads do use de Bilosophe' Stode do fix id…"

Morgana slapped a hand over her face. "You know, you should have come straight to me with the news, rather than getting into a fight with the lord Black," she shook her head in vexation. "I should turn you into a bat, but you'd be too greasy to fly. What is so hard about it? Just go in, spy on Merlin and Uther's visitors, bring me back _one_ useful piece of information—"

"Bu' I was goi'd do see you!" Severance wailed. "B'lady Bogada, belieb' be, I hea'd a'd cabe ove' bu' da' liddle basdard Black b'oke bah dows!"

"Shut up, Severance. You're the worst spy in creation. All you've given me is a headache. You can't tell me what ripped that's got the lord Crouch here with those two others, or even what the Muggles are doing. By Circe, you can't even speak properly. Go fix that nose of yours, and may it stay crooked for every generation to follow."

"Do'h! Bweese do'h do da'!"

Morgana rolled her eyes.

"Shut up, Severance, and go away." She gave him a dismissive wave to point her statement, and cleaned herself with a wave of her wand. "I'll have to go do your job myself, and that's all on your head I'll have you know."

"Bu'… Bu'…"

"Hush, I said. Leave now, you're vexing me. Be glad I didn't turn you into thatches for my roof. Now begone."

And she strode purposefully (and regally) towards the Camelot Castle walls.

Well.

_Almost_ nearly practically to the walls, because she was _Morgana le Fay_ , feared and well-known by all, and she was certain Merlin, Uther, and those 'basddads' Black and Gryffindor and Crouch would hex her first, ask questions later.

She decided to disguise herself, and that required… a little privacy, first off. So she deviated from the main path, making her way into a thicket while she pondered who she should pose as while in the castle.

Not one of the serving girls, for sure. Last time she did that, she had been tasked with cleaning the outhouses, and she couldn't use magic to do so— who would ever have thought the brats were under constant supervision?

Then there was that other time she'd snuck into the castle posing as a noble lady, but curse her bad luck, that very same snobbish wench just _had_ to arrive the very next morning!

And she wouldn't ever forget the time she had decided to pose as one of the maids to the lady Guinevere— she had been made to follow her around everywhere, listen to her nonsensical drivel all day long, help her dress and get changed a million times before her ladyship was satisfied with her appearance, had to brush her hair, empty her chamber pot, place clean rushes on her floor… Gods, she'd been so worn out at the end of the day she'd even forgotten to spy!

No. This time, she decided, would be different. Hm. What to do? Who should she be? Someone of rank, but not high enough to be noticed. Someone who would be implicitly given free run of the castle, and not tasked with silly serving duties. Someone… who could easily be seen talking to anyone and make nobody suspicious.

_Hm_.

Yep, that was a toughie, especially with what Court had become of late. She was an avid reader of _Witch Weekly_. She was in the loop.

Morgana mentally ran down a list of courtiers, briefly stopping to wonder about the time-travellers. The Lords Black and Gryffindor were certainly of age, but were they married yet? And what about the Lady Crouch? Where was she? Not in the castle, the Crouches liked to remain in their Devon Estates… But… maybe if she impersonated, say, the Lady Cicely of …No, she was in the castle, wasn't she? Oh, where was the gossip column when she most needed it?

That's right, it was covering the roof.

She walked about aimlessly, changing wardrobes with a flick of her wand every now and then, deep in thought.

"Oh! That's it!" she exclaimed to herself. She had been rehashing the last list of courtiers at Camelot, and one of the names missing was Elaine of Aquitaine, one of Pellinore's brats. And Pellinore was surely out after the Questing Beast again, therefore nobody would bother her about anything! It was well-known that Elaine (well, _that_ Elaine, there were too many to count lately) was rather fond of her amorous affairs, and she wasn't _entirely_ ugly.

Particularly not after a good beauty-enhancing charm, which Morgana could recite in her sleep (and often did, although she would never admit it to anyone).

She waved and flicked her wand, chanting to herself, and her shining black hair shifted hues until it matched Elaine's blonde, as did every last of her features; her high-boned cheeks became rounder, her lips poutier and redder, her eyes shifted from blue to green and she added a bit to her hips, which swayed this way and that as she walked daintily to the castle, giggling to herself in a fashion that was nothing like her usual bearing.

Yep, she was a good actress. And she was secretly proud of it.

But her inward celebration died before it had properly started. She had reached a small clearing on her way to Camelot Castle… and what she saw there was most unusual.

There, humming with magic and surrounded by blooming shrubs, stood a blue box.

A large blue box, just like the one that good-for-naught Severance had told her about, with the words "POLICE PUBLIC CALL BOX" carved on it, and what looked like doors, and a curious-looking little contraption to the side which made a ' _ding_ ' sound when she tapped it.

Morgana circled the thing a few times, trying to make sense of it. There was a keyhole on one of the doors, but it was so tiny she doubted a regular key would ever open it.

But she was curious.

If this was the contraption used for travelling through time, she wouldn't even need to go to the castle to spy on anyone— she could just take it.

Or at least look inside.

She cast _Alohomora_ to open it, but all she got for her troubles was a blast of power, which landed her a few feet away, her recently-charmed hair sizzling and on end.

"Oh, that's the way you want to play it, huh," she muttered, raffling herself up from the forest floor. "You picked the wrong witch to mess with— _Incantus Cancelo_!"

Nothing happened.

Morgana sniffled, circling the strange wooden box yet again. Maybe it needed a pass word?

What could it be?

"Time," she tried.

Nothing happened.

"Police public call box!" she said imperiously. "Open before me!"

_Hummmmmmm_ , went the box. Was it _mocking_ her?

"Box call public police!" Sometimes things were scrambled or backwards, so… "Call Box Public Police! Xob Llac Cilbup Ecilop! Llac Xob Ecilop Cilbup! Ecilop Cilbup Llac Xob!"

Half an hour later, she was hungry, rather badly vexed, and still staring down the immovable box.

And she was quite certain the thing was _laughing_.

"I give up. Stupid thing. Stupid Severance. Stupid Crouch." Her eyebrows rose. Of course! He would know the spell needed to open the box! And, she decided, he would definitely forget he was married to that hag of a witch, Blanche.

She cleaned herself up and redid her hair, added a few more bits to her figure in strategic places, and marched resolutely to the castle.

That Lord Crouch would never even know what hit him.

* * *

In the meantime, in the castle...

* * *

**The Paths Where Love Taketh Us...**

* * *

"So," Sirius clapped his hands together, surveying the drenched Artie critically. "We have noticed that Guinevere is very susceptible to the things one can do, so I figure you need to impress her."

He and James had resorted to a universally-accepted remedy for drunkenness: Drenching in ice-cold water. This meant that Artie was, aside from wet, also suffering the beginnings of a hangover and possibly frostbite. In addition, he was miserable — a fact which made James feel infinitely better— and only stared dimly at Sirius. They were in the courtyard of Camelot, which was presently windy —James' doing— and deserted because everyone with an ounce of sense was getting ready for the banquet. The best food was usually gone within a few minutes, a factoid Sirius was well aware of.

"Wha?" Artie asked him blankly. Sirius sighed. His stomach rumbled.

_Gods, what I do for you, James._

_For me?! I'll happily date Gwen—_

_Frilly granny knickers!_

_Shut up!_

_Freckles! Brown wavy hair!_

_SHUT UP, SIRIUS!_

_Alright, Ronald Weatherby._

_Okay, okay! Stop it with the Weatherby already!_ James huffed, sticking his hands mulishly in his recently invented pockets while Sirius gave him his most insolent grin.

"What," Sirius enunciated clearly, turning to Artie once more, "are you good at?" Artie blinked slowly at him. James was tempted to facepalm, but Sirius carried on patiently. "We need to know what you're good at, so we can see how you can impress her," Sirius reminded.

"This." Artie said, "I'm good at this." He gestured around him. Sirius and James had a turn at blinking dimly in response.

"Wha?" James asked.

"You're good at… standing?" Sirius ventured hesitantly.

"What are you, thick?" Artie scoffed. Sirius raised an eyebrow. "Jousting, of course. I'm the champion of Camelot. Where have you been? In Mercia?"

"What's Mercia?" James asked.

"What's jousting?" Sirius asked.

Artie facepalmed, but after a few moments — and a drying charm courtesy of James— he explained the basic traits of the Medieval sport of choice to the boys.

"Simple as," Sirius said, once he and James had grasped the gist of it— basically bashing others to a pulp using Muggle weaponry whilst taking care not to be bashed in yourself— and learned that there were four main parts to it: the melee, horseback jousting, archery and one-on-one swordfighting. "It's going to be easy, then. All we need is for you to beat James in a joust—"

"What?! Why me? Why not you?" James interrupted. Sirius rolled his eyes.

" _Because_ we're trying to impress the Lady Guinevere, remember? She's _not_ got the hots for me, does she? It's the _Lord Potter_ she wants to have a picnic with, and as you know, that shouldn't happen, because of the Weatherby—"

"Okay, okay, let's impress the lady, then." James heaved a sigh and ruffled his hair. Not only was he _not_ allowed to give into his impulse of wooing Guinevere, now he _also_ had to get himself bashed with clubs and skewered with swords and trampled by horses and whatnot for it. Gah.

"Brilliant!" Sirius exclaimed, and Artie grinned.

"Um, so…" James ventured, having been deep in thought for a few moments, during which Sirius and Artie were planning the event for the following morning. "What's jousting like, exactly?"

* * *

And what of the Lord of Time?

* * *

**Yep... Still Got It.**

* * *

The Doctor walked lazily down one of the many hallways of Camelot Castle, adjusting his brown trenchcoat. He had spent a very interesting day in Merlin's company after the boys and Uther had left, and he was rather confident he could seal the rip in time and space; Sirius hadn't stayed long after a heated argument over why dragons should be a protected species, which might have invented environmentalism a couple of millenia or so too early, so the lad had missed a most interesting planning session.

The Doctor had finally gotten to talk wibbly wobbly timey wimey stuff to his heart's content, and found out that these wizarding blokes were more up his alley than he'd given them credit for. Besides, he'd had a blast helping to hide Merlin's now Truly Secret Work Chamber. The Doctor chuckled to himself. He'd be surprised if anyone could find the room now.

Starting with Merlin.

The earlier distraction with the blue goo had served them both to hide the chamber, and once it was hidden, they lost track of time because nobody bothered them for the rest of the day.

And now he rather felt like bothering someone else.

He made his way to the Great Hall, where he could already hear laughing and music. The Middle Ages might be low-tech to a fault, but the _Magical Middle Ages_ were, he found, right up his alley. There was no shortage of entertainment here, at any rate. And just in case there was, he had a banana in his pocket. That usually helped break the ice quite effectively.

"Lord Crouch, fancy seeing you here," a musical, rather breezy voice said behind him. The Doctor turned, wondering why, _why_ people insisted on telling him to crouch all the time.

"Uh… you talkin' to me?" he asked the… beautiful witch in an elegant white gown who was swaying towards him with a charming smile on her face.

"How is the lady Blanche?" the witch asked, now close enough for him to smell roses on her. Roses with an undertone of… goat. He wasn't about to judge, though. Persil had not been invented yet, had it?

"Er… the lady who?"

She giggled.

"Oh, you always were such a jester," she told him, swaying closer to him still. He instinctively took a step back. "And, I hear, you have been _travelling_." Now she was playing with his tie, which he tugged back into his possession. "Where did you get that interesting coat? In Mercia? Hispania? Or did you journey _further_?" She whispered that last in his ear, making goosebumps rise all over his skin. He didn't think it was just because she smelled like a stable.

"A bit further, yeah…" The Doctor tugged his coat away from her hold now, only to look up and find her face had come uncomfortably close to his. "I don't believe we've met, lady…?"

"Elaine," she laughed, patting his arm. "Surely you remember me, although I've grown since I last saw you…" she did a bit of a funny jiggle with her hips, like a bell, as if to demonstrate what, exactly, had grown since then. "I've fond memories of you, sir lord, _very_ fond." That last was delivered in a suggestive sort of whisper, which made the Doctor rather… nervous.

A bit.

He was over 900 years old, after all. He'd been around.

"Uh," went the Doctor. "I… yes, I can see that… er… lady Elaine. That's close enough, thanks. I can see quite fine from here." She, however, was nothing if not persistent. "Oh," he added, thinking on his feet. "Is that dinner I smell? Yum, I'm starving," he added brightly, echoing Sirius' favourite phrase and backing away. "I'll be on my way, shall—" his intended ploy was foiled as a set of shimmering pink lips landed smack on his own.

"Blimey," he breathed against Elaine's mouth. "I thought you people were more reserved in this day and age."

"That— that was…" Elaine whispered, every bit as incredulous as the Doctor himself.

"Quite fun, thank you," he told her quickly before she could move in for a second go. "But I always like to keep my snogging short before meals to, well, preserve my appetite, and dinner is where I should be heading right about now." He took off before she could say another word. "Nice meeting you, Elaine, er, Lady!" he called over his shoulder, already hurrying down a random corridor towards some random stairs and out of sight. He completely missed Elaine's huff and wry smile as she followed more slowly.

"Oh, but I have got _you_ , lord Crouch."

"Boys!" the Doctor fairly leapt over one of the tables in the Great Hall, which was buzzing with courtiers and servants, most of whom were carrying heavy-looking silver trays this way and that. "Boys! I'm so glad to see you — you've got to hide me."

"Wha?" Sirius asked. Unsurprisingly, his face was half buried in a formless edible something.

"Why?" James wanted to know. The Doctor looked over his shoulder, ducking under the table right after.

"Because of _her_ ," he hissed, jabbing a thumb towards Elaine.

"Ooh," James commented. "'Choo want to hide from her for? _Oh_!" he gasped, hazel eyes suddenly wide. "Is she your gran too?"

"Don't be _stupid_ , his gran's not even from this _planet_."

"Har har, I'm Sirius Black, I'm a nerdnerd and I expect everyone to understand the nonsense I—"

"Well," the Doctor interrupted halfheartedly. "She might be. She liked to visit places too. Mind you, she'd be a bunch of atoms just about now."

"Whasanatom—" James started, but the Doctor ducked under the table.

"Shh! She's coming!"

"Holy Snitch, she's _fit_."

"Don't you _dare_ , James."

"Oh, all _right_ , gah," came the long-suffering tone, and a split second later, the Doctor was covered with a familiar sort of see-through fabric. Elaine passed him without a glance, clearly still looking for someone. Him.

"I _really_ like this thing."

"You would," James murmured. "I wonder why you'd want to hide from… _her_." He nodded in Elaine's direction.

"She keeps wanting to snog me—"

"Like that's a bad thing."

"Oy!" the Doctor exclaimed at a hiss. "It is. Sometimes."

"But if she's not your gran, then what's the har—"

"That's not the point! I don't want to be snogged."

Cutlery clattered on the table, and both boys stared at the invisible spot where the Doctor was, shocked and open-mouthed.

"What? Snogging _isn't_ everything." The Doctor hissed from under the cloak. Sirius started chewing again, but neither boy lost his stunned expression. The Doctor rolled his eyes. Teenagers, ye gods.

* * *

TBC. R&R.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next (unless something happens to change the tale again): Sirius will get his dragon. James learns to joust. Sirius blows stuff up, James blows stuff up, Severance is articulate again, and Morgana finally succeeds at taking… something... from the Doctor.


	9. More Tales of Camelot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter: Four tales that relate the adventures of our time-travelling friends and enemies. James learns to joust, Sirius is musical, tiny Sirius is drunk, Yvonne meets the king, and Morgana faces the Laughing Blue Box.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The HP verse is not mine, the Doctor isn't mine either, if you figure out which bits I can slap the DND stamp on, let me know. The rest is pre-owned, and as anyone owning a second-hand car can tell you, the original owner never really goes away.
> 
> Oh yeah. And I do not endorse underage drinking.

.

 

* * *

**Part 9: More Tales of Camelot**

* * *

**The Tale of Morgana and the Doctor**

* * *

The royal banquet held in the time-travelling friends' honour was a regular party for most everyone in attendance; most everyone, that is, except for a small handful of guests.

James spent half his evening watching Sirius eat his way through two score courses. Not all at once, a fact he attributed to Sirius' unflagging good mood – which was not as common to see as it once had been – and which Sirius alternated with appropriate pauses for loo breaks, wooing Rosie the pastry chef, dancing... The grey-eyed Marauder even found time, somehow, to win the entirety of Artie's gambling proceeds in a very spectacular game of Uno, get a lesson in hawking – not spitballs, but actual, y'know, hawks – and amaze everyone by juggling as many as nine baked potatoes at a time. After which amazing deed, he promptly ate them all.

The other half of James' evening was spent in a variety of activities: grousing, hiding from the Lady Guinevere, helping the Doctor hide from the Lady Elaine (now dubbed the paine in the drain), grousing some more, loudly lamenting his ill luck, and losing a smashing three-hundred and thirty-seven Galleons to Artie in a not-so-spectacular game of Uno.

As for the Doctor, he basically focused on hiding from Elaine, which endeavour he was successful in until James snatched his Invisibility Cloak away to go to bed in a bit of a huff. This, of course, also signified the end of the Doctor's success in staying out of Elaine's sight.

She in turn had spent nearly the entire banquet looking for him (and eating her fill of some dishes that did not taste remotely like rat stew) Which put a damper on her spying as she tried everything, in a similar manner to Sirius' own.

Nobody paid her much mind, though, the entertainments all around took care of that. Especially the young Lord Sirius Odin Pendragon Black, who, upon completing the cleaning operation of his lordly mess earlier, decided to celebrate by getting into the wine. Or the beer, or probably both. In any case, the little bloke was completely smashed before the dancing even started, to – and let us remind the reader that this was the Middle Ages – the undying amusement of the adults all around. So, nobody bothered the fake Elaine while she was pigging out in the most unladylike fashion.

Until, that was, she had eaten her fill. That was around midnight, and quite around the time the Doctor had been bereft of his magical aid in staying unseen.

He in turn, resolved to figure out how that brilliant cloak worked, and to get himself one... Or, failing that, to get an invisibility app for his sonic screwdriver. But all that would have to wait; right this minute he was in a bit of a fix, since the Lady Elaine had zeroed in on him over the roast pork – which in turn was over half gone, thanks to the older, still exceedingly joyful, Sirius.

He'd have to fix the kid and soon, the Doctor decided, but that would also have to wait for later. Running away was foremost on his agenda, and so he did, trying not to arouse suspicion from the revellers around him.

However, his chosen escape route was smack through the dance floor, and he was promptly cut off by a dervish-like couple, who turned out to be Sirius and Rosie the pastry chef, who were in the process of inventing the mosh pit a few millennia early and having a grand time of it.

This of course, allowed the Lady Elaine to cut the Doctor off and snatch him away for a dance, batting her eyelashes in a way that would have been fetching, had she not been holding a chicken leg in one hand and a ham in the other. How she managed to all but violate the good Doctor with her eyes while slow dancing to a decidedly medieval tune and not lose her food items was lost on him, busy as he was trying to bat her away... Or at least, save his intergalactic bottom from being groped.

"My dear Lady - _aah_ \- Elaine, I must dash," he tried, yet again, to get away from her grabbing hands, with limited success... Until he yanked himself away from her. "That's quite enough," he told her crossly. "I'm going now."

"Fine, if you insist," said she, "I remember you being much more fun." And she turned away, seemingly offended, and the Doctor failed to see the broad grin that spread over her features; in her hand, covered in gravy from the ham, she held his key to the TARDIS.

The Doctor was too busy making a break for it to notice, and he did not stop before he reached his rooms and locked them with his sonic screwdriver.

So then, that was the evening that had been made of it. Let us leave our heroes to their slumber – in Sirius' case, interrupted by a handful of snack breaks – and focus on our cackling Lady Elaine, who left the castle in a hurry, carrying a large sack of edibles, one tapestry she'd liked, and the key to the most powerful weapon in the universe.

.

* * *

.

Morgana was in a mood so fantastic it should be made illegal. On account of the times, it probably was.

She held the glimmering key to the TARDIS aloft, smiling to herself. She had woken Severance upon her arrival, and now he was in the process, after hanging up the tapestry and storing the food where the rats could not touch it, of brewing a duplicity potion. Morgana intended to give a duplicate of the key to the Lord Crouch, as she called the Doctor, and use the original to purloin the magic in his queer blue box.

"Hurry up, Severance, you still need to take it back before anyone notices," she hissed, huffing impatiently at her bleary-eyed partner in crime.

She, however, was wide awake and hyper, as any self-respecting evil witch should, whereas Severance seemed close to nodding off over his cauldron. She was willing to put up with that, however, as she wasn't about to brew the potion herself. Not because she was rubbish at it, but because it would ruin her hair and pearly skin tone.

Yep. That was it.

Severance was taking aeons to finish. Morgana wasn't sure what to do with herself throughout, torn between having some more berry pie and pestering her half-asleep potions master to hurry up.

In the end, she decided on a third option, which, again, set the tone for all dark witches and wizards to come: she poured herself some wine (had to save that pie for later) and began making a plan, taking care to look as ominous and frightening as she could manage. Looks were, if not everything, then a fair percentage of what being a dark lady was all about.

So, she draped her long black cloak about her so that it looked like she was enveloped by the night itself, and plotted what to do once she owned the contents of the insolent laughing blue box.

.

* * *

.

Back in Camelot, our heroes and their new friends were still asleep, oblivious to the danger they had become exposed to.

Well.

_Most_ of them were.

As usual, Sirius had a hard time sleeping, so he'd made his – merry, for once – way to the kitchens, to fix himself a little snack.

He hummed to himself while around him, the kitchen came to life: pots and pans danced in the air, sizzling with various dishes in process, the hearth was roaring and the oven soon let wafts of the heavenly smell of freshly-baked bread fill the air.

Before Torchwood turned him into a bottomless pit of greedy, gnawing hunger, Sirius had never been this overtly appreciative of the art of the cuisine. Sure, he enjoyed his meals, but it wasn't an obsession. Now, however, not only did he appreciate fine cooking, he enjoyed practicing it almost as much as eating.

Almost.

If push came to shove, he'd still choose eating over cooking, even raw, but…

Maybe, if he ever had gotten to actually choose and live a full life, he'd have decided to become a chef. He was well aware that he wouldn't, but right now, his dismal future was the farthest thing from his mind, as were Torchwood and parallel universes and prophecy wanks that ruined lives for dubious reasons.

Right now, he was busy humming _Roadhouse Blues_ and preparing the world's first ten-course pre-dawn brunch, starting with a cheese omelette with dandelion leaves and crowning his endeavours with the Medieval World's first ever chocolate pudding (he had been happily surprised to find a few bars of Honeyduke's Best in his coat pocket).

Yes, life was good today.

Sirius was so happy this morning (though it was not even dawn yet), that he missed the figures sneaking around the castle completely, despite the fact that they had entered through the pantry, and Morgana and Severance (for it was them) were not too well-versed in the art of sneaking. While climbing down the window, she stepped on Severance's foot, making him yowl—

Luckily for them, Sirius chose that exact moment to let out a happy sort of howl, having finished his half-hummed, half-sung rendition of _Roadhouse Blues_ (he was getting into the groove), and launching into a rendition of _Sympathy for the Devil_ complete with an improvised dance routine.

"Please allow me to introduce myself, I'm a man of wealth and taste…" he sang, making the pots and pans drum the rhythm, and charming a harp to do the guitar bits while he chopped and tasted and stirred, completely unaware that the two intruders were watching and listening, frozen in place, a few feet away.

Morgana didn't move from her spot for a long time, staring at the lord Black as if transfixed. Sure, she'd seen him at the feast, but she had been on a mission then.

She definitely hadn't expected the little brat who was Myrddin's favourite grandchild and made their lives difficult simply by existing could have evolved into… _this_.

_This_ , she decided, looked good, sounded great, had some dance moves she'd never before seen… and whatever he was cooking smelled heavenly. And he was singing about such delightfully evil things, too!

"M'lady," Severance Prince wasn't nearly as appreciative of the Lord Black. To him, he was blocking their exit from the kitchens. They were on a time-sensitive mission here! Then again, he was still sore from the beating his nose had received the day prior.

The Lady Morgana let out a sigh of infatuation.

"M'lady," Severance pressed. "We have to go."

"You're such a killjoy, Severance. Why don't you go leave the key? I could stay here and wait for you. And have some of those chops…"

She did not specify whose chops she was after, just then.

Severance groaned.

"But, M'lady, we _must_ go together. I cannot be seen in Lord Crouch's chambers, I am a maintenance servant here," he hissed. "You can ogle the kid later."

"Oh, all right," she huffed, just as Sirius finished his song, paused to eat the omelette, and decided to prepare another, flicking his fingers at his instruments to play _La Grange_ as he juggled six eggs before breaking them on the pan.

"We need a distraction," Severance reminded her. Morgana sighed, but she cast a spell on the oven. Instantly, smoke billowed out, and Sirius hurried to save his precious meatloaf and pies, still oblivious to the two intruders hurrying past behind him.

He did notice moments later, however, that his mutton chops with jacket potatoes were gone.

"Did I eat those already?" He wondered at mid-voice, but then merely shrugged to himself and went to the pantry to get some more.

Inside, he caught a whiff of unwashed hair and goat, which made him stop for an instant as he spotted the mutton.

He had a sudden epiphany: what if… he roasted the entire thing with three different sauces? He'd be set for the morning, at least.

Let us leave Sirius to his culinary and musical exploits for a while, and join in Morgana's top secret mission instead.

The plan was simple enough: get into Lord Crouch's chambers and return the fake key to the box. However, let us not forget _who_ was doing it, and with these two, nothing was ever simple. Or quick.

Early days of the Dark Side; they were still finding their sea legs, as it were.

Morgana took a break from the sneaking, seeing as everyone seemed to be asleep from the previous night's revels, to polish off the chops and jacket potatoes she'd nicked from Sirius earlier. She felt strangely at ease, emboldened because for _once_ , everything seemed to be working out the way she liked it. There she was, in the castle, she had scored her second decent meal in a row, and she was in possession of the duplicate key she had made.

To prove her point to her nonexistent audience, she pulled both keys out of her pocket. Both looked identical and had such similar magical signatures it was impossible to tell them apart, which was why she was holding the correct one in her left, the duplicate in her right. It wouldn't be proper to mix them up, now would it?

Behind her playing lookout by the nearest door, Severance was getting impatient. He had not had breakfast, or indeed dinner, and Morgana had hogged up all the food. The greedy witch hadn't given him even a single potato, and he was in a foul mood. Some day, he vowed, his line would be first rather than last, some day, the likes of Morgana would _serve_ his descendants. And they'd never have to beg for others' scraps, either!

Absorbed as he was in his thoughts, he completely missed Albus Dimbledore, the butler, walking down the hall on his way to start the fires (or get some poor servant to do it).

"M'lady!" Severance hissed, a sound so penetrating that Morgana gave a little jump and dropped the keys. "Dimbledore is on his way, we must leave at once!"

"Curse you, Severance! You made me drop the keys! Help me find them, quick!"

Muttering curses of his own, Severance dove under the table with Morgana, trying to find these littlest keys in creation. Why couldn't they be regular sized ones? Gah!

They scrambled to find the keys, and in the end they did, even as Dimbledore shuffled past, tutting at the plate discarded on the table and taking it to the kitchens.

"I hadn't finished that," Morgana groused, allowing Severance to help her to a stand. "You take the fake key, I'll take the other."

"Er… Yes, M'lady," was the uncertain answer. "Which is which, though?" He held them both aloft in his hand.

Morgana didn't grace him with a look.

"The one on the left is the real key," she replied, gesturing at him to hand it over. "The one on the right is the fake."

Severance gave her one of the keys, completely confused. How could she tell?

He followed her out, headed to the Lord Crouch's chambers on the third floor.

Inside, the Lord Crouch was snoozing, warm in his bed by the roaring fire.

"Curses," muttered Morgana. "He's still wearing his cloak. Wait here, I shall do it myself."

She tapped her wand against her temple once, and with a poof of glitter and goat-scented smoke, Elaine of Aquitaine was standing in the doorway.

"What? What?" The Doctor said, sitting up on his bed with a start.

"Just me, my Lord Crouch," Morgana said sweetly, snapping her fingers behind her back to get Severance to toss her the key. He did, levitating the thing towards her until it reached her fingers. Morgana' smile widened. "I am here to see if you would like anything special for breakfast."

"Breakfast?"

"Why, yes, m'lord. I am sure you must be hungry after all that dancing."

"I don't … I haven't… I didn't dance." Oh, but he was so confused. Morgana smiled all the wider, watching the Lord Crouch's expression become alarmed.

"Oh, but you did," she replied, sitting on the side of his bed and running fingers through his hair. She planted a kiss on his lips, slipping the key into his pocket as she did. "We can dance again soon," she promised and stood, relishing the Doctor's gobsmacked face for a few seconds before hurrying out.

The Doctor stared at the space Morgana had vacated long after the door was shut behind her. His eyebrows rose in astonishment, and it was an additional while before he found his voice.

"Well." he established, addressing the empty room around him. "They're certainly very liberal in this day and age."

.

* * *

.

**The Tale of James Potter and the Joys of Jousting**

"Alright, I'm here."

"Excellent, we can get started–" Sirius looked up mid-sentence, his bright smile becoming rather fixed at the sight of one James Potter. Unlike him, Mr. Prongs did not seem to be in the best of moods. "… right away," he finished, rather less enthusiastically. He picked a roll from his selection of goodies and affectionately closed the lid of the basket he had received upon leaving the kitchens, a gift from Rosie, the pastry chef. Oh, but he was in _love_.

"Whatever." James flopped down on the grass next to Sirius, giving the basket a bleary, yet tremendously grumpy sort of glare.

"Care for a roll?" Sirius offered halfheartedly. "They're freshly baked and all."

James heaved a sigh and shook his head. "Nah. Keep your ruddy rolls. Where's Prince Sleeping Draught?"

"Not here, not yet," Sirius replied unnecessarily.

They were alone in the arena of sorts that served as a training ground for the castle's knights, and which was basically an overgrown patch of grass and weeds with a few decidedly abandoned-looking straw dummies propped up on wooden posts. A faint mist hung in the early morning air, which made the scene all the more dismal. Not that it made Sirius feel that way, he was very optimistic this morning.

"So," Sirius resumed conversationally, "what's got your swishy tail in a bunch?"

"Nothing," James muttered.

"Quite right," Sirius replied, starting on his bread roll. If James was in a rotten mood, nothing he did would turn it around just yet, so he decided to wait it out. "After the jousting is over, d'you want to go wake up the Massahpiece?" That was what he had named their utterly amazing creation, and, Sirius believed, it would surely turn James' bad mood around. He and James had taken it to the dungeons and left it in a cell, and they would have unleashed it too if Sirius hadn't had to make an emergency dash to the kitchens for a refill – and then gotten sidetracked by the feast.

Now was a new day, however, and for once it was a brilliant one. Sirius had almost forgotten what it was like, to have a full night's sleep (with its snack breaks every hour or so), without having to run to another time or place and fearing capture.

He could even admit to himself that he _had_ been worried about the thing Torchwood had stuck around his foot, but no longer: Yvonne the hag and her cronies would have to take the damned thing off if they wanted to return home; besides, now the Doctor was helping them (and Merlin, and Uther too), they'd be able to fix the universes, and he had found someone who loved food as much as he did and wasn't stingy with it at all. In short, Sirius wasn't one to miss when things were finally looking brighter for him.

Yep, Sirius thought to himself, today life is good. And this trip is great.

"This trip sucks." James, apparently, was of a different opinion. Sirius gave him an inquiring look, but James fell silent and glared at the grass at his feet.

"You're not seriously still mad that Gwen is your ancestor?" Sirius asked, gesturing his basket closer. It was filled at all times with Rosie's best dishes, so he wouldn't go hungry. He watched as the wicker basket waddled towards him, smiling. If he could, he would take Rosie with him to the ends of time… But he couldn't; in truth, he loved someone who hadn't even been _born_ yet.

"I've never hidden from a girl," James muttered. "Especially not one like _her_."

"You mean, one that's quite possibly directly related to you?" Sirius inquired innocently, examining a pie before biting into it.

"I _like_ her!" James exclaimed, frustrated.

"Which you've made abundantly clear," Sirius replied lightly. "You know, if you really like her ever soooo much, we can just go back to the castle now, Rupert Weatherby."

"Shut up, Sirius."

"What? I need to practice! What if I call you James by accident, Weatherby?"

"I said _I'd_ _fix_ things," James countered. "I don't have to be all bloody chipper while I'm at it."

"Well no, but you _could_ be less bitter about it," Sirius said sensibly. "Would it kill you to—"

A huge yawn interrupted Sirius before he could start a world-class bout of bickering, announcing the arrival of a very hungover-looking Artie.

"Honestly, I'm supposed to _lose_ to this dingleberry?" James indignantly hissed in Sirius' ear. Sirius had to admit, it wasn't going to be easy to achieve; Artie looked quite ready to keel over by his onesy.

Artie was wearing a breastplate and a belt with a sword and wand over his nightshirt, his hair was even more tousled than James' on a bad hair day, and one of his stockings slid down to his ankles as he came to a halt next to them.

For once Sirius had no reply. He took a thoughtful bite off his apple instead, and started chewing.

This would be harder than he thought.

"Morning," Artie yawned again, using his sword to scratch his back. "What are we doing, then?"

Next to him, James shot a mildly inquisitive, still annoyed look at Sirius, who looked between the two of them, clearly thinking hard.

"Well," he said, "as you know, the plan is to get Guinevere to like Artie again, therefore, I suggest a jousting tournament, which Artie will win." He gave James a pointed look. James rolled his eyes, and Artie nodded matter-of-factly.

"Easy as pie," he stated confidently, but the effect was lost in a shuddering yawn.

"Right," Sirius said, clapping his hands and getting to his feet, feeling his own confidence waver. This was not lost on James, but Artie was none the wiser. He summoned a sword for James and handed it over. "D'you want the armour thingy?" He gestured at Artie's breastplate for an explanation.

James scoffed, "Why waste our time getting all dressed up for it? He's in his jim jams for crying out loud!" He gestured at Artie in frustration, turning towards Sirius after. "I'll make short work of him, and then you'll have to come up with some other way to—"

_CLANG._

"Oy! Watch it!" James yelled, parrying the blow entirely by accident.

What Sirius was supposed to come up with, he never found out. As soon as James took the sword, Artie seemed to undergo some sort of transformation. Never mind the bedhead and the drooping stocking, never mind his flowing nighty: he was suddenly towering over James, raising his sword in a smooth arch that was as swift as it was deadly… and bringing it down without warning. It was all James could do to deflect the blows with his own sword, jumping backwards in shock.

"…the hell," he gasped.

"RAAAA! Have at you!" Artie's transformation seemed complete.

Sirius gaped, forgetting to chew for a few breathless moments.

_Dude, Artie's a berserkermagus._

_Aaaaaah!_ Was all that was forthcoming from James' end for a while.

Understandable, Sirius mused, watching Artie beat down on his best mate.

Artie was very good, he had to admit. He dealt out blows left and right, and James had all hands full trying to dodge and parry and simply survive. Sirius decided that next time he'd put a full armour on James before letting Artie at him.

"Have at you!" Artie roared, sending James flying for the third time. James came up in a crouch, dizzily holding on to his sword with both hands. Miraculously he was still in one piece, but maybe not for long, Sirius thought, watching Artie charge again.

"RAAA! Die!"

"Meep." James was in over his head, Sirius shook his own.

"Okay, stop that, stop that," he said, raising his hands and trying to get Artie's attention. Artie seemed crazed though, and it took a levitation spell to get him off of James.

"Let me down! The fight is mine!" Artie yelled, flailing about wildly. How he could make even _that_ look like a deadly attack, was beyond Sirius.

It took an additional few moments to get Artie to understand that he'd won, that he could stop trying to slice James into bits – because he needed to do that in front of Guinevere, Sirius reasoned – and that they were done training swordplay for the day.

"So do you think Guinevere will like this?" Artie asked Sirius, once he was back on the ground.

"Oh yeah," Sirius replied, whistling for his basket of goodies. "She'll only have eyes for you, guaranteed. Alright, Prongs?" he asked next, turning to James, who was sitting a little ways away, trying to catch his breath. "Nothing broken or sliced?"

James shook his head, exhausted.

"No, but I'll be black and blue by tomorrow." James accepted the offered hand and heaved himself to his feet.

_Gods of Quidditch,_ he thought, _please let this be over._

"Excellent," Sirius said with a gleeful grin, clapping his best friend on the back. James winced. Sirius waved at someone beyond James' limited field of vision. James hoped it was a medi-wizard.

"Now let's see how you both do on horseback!"

**.**

* * *

**A Tale of Two Siriuses? … Sirii? Sirilets? You know.** _**Them** _ **.**

* * *

"So, what was the masterpiece you wanted me to look at?" Tiny Sirius asked curiously upon arrival, handing Sirius the salami he had requested earlier. They were both standing in the courtyard, and it soon transpired, were waiting for James and Artie, who had gone to freshen up after having practiced _all_ arts of jousting and tournament combat to exhaustion.

Though Sirius suspected that Artie had just been getting started and pretended to be tired so James wouldn't feel so bad about getting repeatedly smashed to a pulp.

This wasn't such a bad thing to happen, in Sirius' not-so-humble opinion. Gwen would be smitten with Artie again, and James' bloodline would be safe from cancelling itself out. Feeling confident on this progress, Sirius had turned to the next order of business, as it were: picking on the Torchwood bunch in the dungeons.

"We left it in the dungeons yesterday," Sirius explained to the tiny lord Black, sharing a salami sandwich with him and putting half the sausage in his trusty food basket, which followed him around like a puppy. It even wagged its wickerwork backside whenever Sirius called it, and caught leftovers in the air, if there were any.

"How's your hangover?" Sirius asked next, at which the younger boy laughed.

"I didn't get one," he announced proudly, and, Sirius couldn't help noticing, looking rather flushed.

"Or rather, not yet," said Sirius sagely. "You're still drunk."

"No, I'm not," little Sirius argued. "I only had a little cider earlier with my breakfast."

(A/N: let the reader be reminded that a) everyone was a drunk in the Middle Ages because they didn't have soda and didn't much like murky river water, and b) Sirius found it very funny that his not-ancestor-ancestor had gotten smashed at such an early age, which is why he wasn't about to lecture him. Instead, he laughed.)

The younger Sirius smiled a little dazedly back, and Sirius shared some mince pies with him as they waited for James and Artie to arrive.

When they did, Artie looking fresh and with a skip in his step (that made him almost unrecognisable in Sirius' eyes), James lagging behind with his arm in a sling and a steak over his black eye (which made Sirius' inner dog want to snatch it), he and his not-ancestor had polished off the salami, with some wedges of cheese and fresh grapes.

"Artie!" The littlest Sirius jogged to greet his cousin, who threw an arm over his shoulder and started bragging about how he'd beaten Lord Gryffindor in a fair match.

Sirius took this chance to throw an arm around James, to help him walk.

"Didn't gramps fix you up?" Sirius asked James, already eyeing the steak hungrily. It looked fresh, beautifully marbled, and so delicious…

But even _he_ , the Human Bottomless Pit, had his priorities. He helped James sit on a bench that was wandering around aimlessly in the courtyard, which he waved over.

"Padfoot," James said thickly, "they don't even have _painkillers_ in this day and age."

Sirius grimaced in sympathy… and snatched James' steak.

"Oy! That was actually _helping_!" James protested.

"And it still is," Sirius countered, chewing. "I'm _starving_. Now hold still a second." He carefully touched his wand-tip against James' eye, muttered a spell… and the black eye slowly vanished. "See? Now you don't need the steak anymore. Aren't you glad you got me?"

"No," James muttered morosely. "Everything else still hurts."

"Not for long," Sirius promised, mouth full once again, and set to work. Five minutes, a fig tart and half a pint of cider later (each, as Sirius wasn't stingy with his viands), James' health was as restored as Sirius could make it.

His mood, too, was a bit better.

"So, what's next?" he asked, flexing his arm to test it for kinks.

"The prank," Sirius reminded him.

"What is that _prank_ you speak of?" Artie had been watching the healing session with keen interest, and had forgotten to brag altogether.

"Oh that," James replied, swigging his cider. It was good, strong stuff, and they were all just a little tipsy. "Just something we do, where we set up our enemies to be mocked."

"Mocked?" Artie and the littlest Black in the castle chorused. James and Sirius nodded.

"How does that work, lords?"

"You shall see," Sirius said, his mouth predictably full. "A prank, or practical joke if you will, is the best thing to start off, or end, your day. We left ours in the dungeons."

"A… Yoke?"

"Joke," James enunciated clearly. "Something funny that makes you laugh."

"Ah. A jest."

"Aye, aye, a jest."

"Let us see your jest of practice, then, cousins."

Sniggering, James and Sirius led the way. It wasn't every day they got to teach the future King Arthur the art of pranking, after all.

**.**

* * *

**The Tale of the Hag and the King**

* * *

Whatever the history books said about dungeons, they were worse in reality. There were _bugs_ , for one. Scuttling, or slimy, or crawling things that bumped into you, or climbed inside your trousers and took a chomp. Or just… lurked.

Then, there was the terrible air quality — seriously, would it kill them to install an extractor? Or indoor plumbing?

Yvonne Hartmann, Director of Torchwood and pioneer in the field of inter-dimensional pathway creation, was miserable.

She and her team of operatives had been stuck here for three days now, by a senior citizen wielding a chicken leg!

At least, that was what it had looked like. Magic was, after all, not real. Aliens, she could accept; she had worked with, against, and on them for years, after all. She had reverse-engineered their tech for almost as long, with great success if you counted the fact she was in the Middle Ages, alive. But magic? _Come on_. There were limits to what she was ready to believe.

Yesterday, that _alien_ brat who claimed he was Sirius Black (the book character, thus proving he was an alien) had visited them, and she had been confident he'd come back soon, with those other nutters, to set them free.

She had thought he'd be in a hurry to get the biomagnetic frequency transducer off his foot.

Turns out, either the brat had lied, or he just didn't care. Or he knew he'd die as soon as the transducer was removed. Yvonne hadn't heard or seen a thing, except for a donkey spouting fireworks into their cells. And the blue goo, which was even now, drying on her hair, which was in turn, very uncomfortably frizzy and sticking up like the bride of Frankenstein.

Whatever the history books had said about dank, damp dungeons, in that regard, they'd been _right_.

Her companions were mostly silent now; they were trying to get some sleep, afraid of what they'd find upon waking. And she was too, only, she was so scared she couldn't bat a lid, and preferred to think of a clever way to negotiate herself out of this mess. If her operatives didn't make it, well. That could hardly be laid at her feet.

Footsteps approached, heavy and slow. She listened intently for a few moments, and decided that, whoever was approaching, it wasn't the kid. It was most likely a man, and he was alone.

"Yvonne the Hag?" A voice boomed in the dungeons, echoing off into the distance. Yvonne could hear some startled exclamations coming from the other cells. "No? I'm looking for Yvonne the Hag."

"That would be me, I am Yvonne, but I am not a hag."

"I'll be the judge of that." The man, who was apparently the king whose banquet she had crashed, came into view. On his hand sat a little man, completely on fire. It seemed that the king was using it as a light source.

Yvonne stared, then dismissed it. It was probably a hallucination. That blue goo had probably been laced with LSD.

The king burped. It smelled like oatmeal.

"You _look_ like a hag." The king stated in that booming voice that made the walls tremble.

"I am not." Yvonne drew herself up. Her hair, which had been stuck standing up from the goo, grazed the slimy ceiling of her cell. She wasn't paying attention to that, however; she was racing to find an explanation to appease this ignorant medieval bog king that she wasn't a witch. "I am… I am…"

"A hag," the king supplied. His voice didn't sound booming anymore, he sounded like a kid trying to hold back a laugh.

"I am from the far future," she answered. "I have come here to save you!" Yes! That was a great idea!

"Save us?" The king boomed, and burped again. There was a clatter as he apparently dropped something. The king didn't seem to notice. Yvonne hoped that it was his dungeon keys.

"Oh yes," Yvonne said, suddenly inspired. "Those boys you took in, they're… demons."

"Demons, you say?" The king asked, then laughed heartily. On his hand, the little fiery man cut a grimace at her and started climbing the king's arm to sit on his shoulder. Yvonne did his best to ignore it; it had a hideous grimace for a face.

"They're not demons," the king went on, waving it off. "They're my long lost relatives."

His hand dropped to the ground. Yvonne and Will and Jack yelled out.

The king watched his arm flopping on the dirty dungeon floor.

"Oops," he said, and could she hear _sniggering_? "Sorry, mate."

"Don't worry about it, Prongs. It was meant to do that."

"What?" Yvonne asked sharply.

" _What_ , what?" The king asked her.

"You lost your hand, king…?"

"Uther," replied the king. "And I did not!"

"What's that then?" She pointed at his stump.

"It's only a flesh wound."

There was definitely laughter coming from nearby, but she couldn't place it.

"Right." Yvonne didn't know what to make of this at all. "So, king Uther… why are you here, then?"

"Oh. Oh, right!" The king clapped himself on the forehead. Something else clattered to the ground. "I came here to liberate you from this prison. Sorry, I am rather forgetful today."

"Yes," she answered, surprised at the sudden turn of events. "We heard you partying last night."

" _Yvonne_ …" Will's voice was trembling.

"Not now, Will!" She hissed. "We are getting released!"

"Did you enjoy it?" The king wanted to know. In the other cells, she could hear Will, Tom and Jack yelling and moving around. Probably happy that they were being released from their cells. "The banquet we held. Did you like it?"

"Well, your highness, it would have been better if people hadn't confused this cellblock with the sewers."

"Oh, that was no confusion; that is how the castle is built. Anyway, here, come on out. You are free."

The king snapped his fingers — which fell off — and the wrought iron gate of her cell vanished into thin air.

Yvonne resolved to get anti-hallucinating shots the instant she returned home, and hurried to leave her stinking cell— only to walk into what felt like a solid wall.

She fell back on her behind, stunned. The king gave her a mildly questioning look, returning to examine his mutilated hand. Out of each finger, a fiery head was sprouting, gibbering at her.

"You said I could leave!"

"You _can_ leave," the king answered, and was his voice that of a child again? This one sounded younger than before. "If you can _leave_." He burst out laughing, and Yvonne raffled herself up, ran to the doorway… _smash_.

The king was laughing so hard, he was bursting, quite literally, at the seams. He seemed to be falling apart, and wherever his limbs fell, they dissolved into scores of tiny little red fire devils, white ice devils, blue zapping devils…

And marbles.

They looked like marbles, anyway, rolling every which way and trying to roll onto her.

Yvonne felt that she was losing hers. These hallucinations _bit_ and _giggled_ and _gibbered_ and _burned_. The little devils chewed on her hair, zapped her on the nose, jumped on her stomach… and they too, were trying to catch the marbles.

Whenever one of them did, an explosion rocked the dungeons, and she would be dancing one moment, sinking into quicksand the next, only to suddenly bounce uncontrollably all over her cell, and yet the next made fireworks zoom across the cell and ricochet against the walls.

Yvonne screamed, her voice joining that of her companions. Still, the only thought she had was to manage to get past that tantalising open doorway.

She didn't even see or hear the four boys who were walking past the cells, stumbling over their feet and laughing their heads off.

.

* * *

**The Tale of the Laughing Blue Box**

* * *

We left Morgana to celebrate her victory over the Doctor earlier, and, once she had purloined some sustenance that contained zero rat meat, a tapestry to cover some of the cracks in her bedroom wall, and a vase she found pretty, she made her way back home.

That was when her luck ended. She had been caught by the butler, Dimbledore, and he had in turn demanded a hefty bribe from her to let her go. And a shrubbery. A nice one. And not too expensive.

Luckily, she had a clear head, so instead of bribing him as _he_ wanted, she had recruited him and made him carry a leg of ham to her house, as _she_ wanted.

Now, with one more servant and spy at her service, she readied herself to find and open the tantalising Laughing Blue Box.

"Let us see what you contain, Laughing Box," she said, while in the background, Mordred leaned against a tree, examining his fingernails with a bored air.

She put the key in the tiny keyhole…

A wheezing sound was heard. It was vaguely like a cow when calving, but stranger, more metallic. Morgana's face soured.

The thing was laughing again.

"You shall not laugh! You shall be mine!" She yelled, kicking the door. She turned the key next, but it only went half around, then got stuck. The thing was _fighting_ her!

"I am the great Morgana, the most powerful evil witch since the beginning of Time! And you shall submit to me!"

The box wheezed out what was unmistakably a cackle.

Morgana huffed, kicked and wrestled the key some more, until she was exhausted.

Her eyes narrowed.

The Box was laughing again.

"Mordred," she said in a tone of forced calm, "I need your help."

"I am bored."

"You shan't be for long, dear. I want you to release the dragons, so I can best this laughing box in peace."

"But Morgana," Mordred argued, "It's nesting season! They'll eat me alive!"

"You shall do as I say. Release the dragons, that should distract the king and his little friends, while I conquer this Laughing Blue Box."

.

* * *

TBC.

Reviews appreciated. What do you think of it so far? And where the hell is Rose? 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kids, underage drinking isn't fun - or even funny to watch, trust me, I've been there, done that, and yuck. I'm sure you're creative enough to come up with fun things to do that are actually not harmful.
> 
> Up next: Mordred releases the dragons. Morgana battles the Laughing Blue Box. The Doctor runs. James and Artie stop whacking at each other, Sirius gives in to his true calling as chef, and Sirius learns pranking. Merlin loses his Secret Room of Secrecy again. And… Stuff, you know.


	10. Here There Be Dragons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter: The TARDIS doesn't quite feel like laughing anymore, we meet Hagrid's ancestor, Hogwarts is invented, Sirius and James adopt a pair of dragons, James and Artie settle their differences, Gwen shows her true colours, the Marauders try their hand at interior design, Merlin finds his Truly Secret Chamber of Secrecy, the Doctor runs a LOT (round and round in Camelot — that rhymed), and Morgana wins a battle. Or so it seems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: AKA, that thing that reminds you as a fanfic writer, of how little is actually yours. And you as reader, that all us fanfic writers get out of this, is the joy of a review. Because Doctor Who or Harry Potter aren't mine.

* * *

**Part Ten: Here There Be Dragons**

* * *

.

We left our heroes in a bit of a bind. Or rather, in a multitude of binds so intricate, that were it a rope, it would have snagged a lot.

Only, as yet they are completely, utterly, wholly oblivious.

This, will of course, change.

Not just yet, though; at the moment, the Doctor was strolling around the large castle, his hands in his pockets. He had scrubbed himself clean after Elaine's "visit", and felt a little better. Enough to decide they'd lingered in this time long enough, and that it was necessary to close the rip in universes already, and move on to the next adventure.

Not that he was in a hurry, exactly; there was _something_ that wasn't quite right here, he just couldn't put his finger on what.

There was the obvious, where he had promised James and Sirius he'd help them get Torchwood off their backs, of course, and Merlin had actually had some insight on the matter; 'course, _he_ said that there was a spell or amulet hidden somewhere in his grandson's being, which was preventing the shackle from release.

The Doctor believed it was a microtransmitter, but he had wasted a long time trying to explain nano technology to the aged wizard, who had listened attentively and then decided he'd find a counter curse or, failing that, invent one.

In any case, before the banquet, he, Merlin, and Uther had planned to interrogate Yvonne and her crew to find out more about how they'd used Sirius as a wormhole to follow him through time itself.

He figured he'd best get a move on in that regard, but he'd looked for Merlin in his Truly Secret Chamber of Secrecy, and the old wizard was — predictably — not there. They had hidden it very well.

In the end, he found Merlin standing on a sunlit terrace off a turret, which was overlooking a courtyard.

The old wizard was watching a very noisy commotion outside. The Doctor peered out curiously, and smiled.

James and Arthur were getting on enormous horses down below, and a very amused Sirius seemed to be helping them, in between munching on something or other. James huffed something out that made both Artie and Sirius laugh, and trotted his stallion to one end of the jousting course.

"They never seem to run out of energy, do they?" Merlin said by way of a greeting.

"Not as far as I've seen, no," the Doctor confirmed, but then cringed as Arthur and James rode towards each other and their jousting lances collided with an almighty _crash_.

Merlin nodded appreciatively. Sirius whooped, then ran off to help James, who had been sent flying thirty feet in the air. The Doctor shook his head in disbelief; already James was getting up, looking dazed, sure, but mostly unhurt. A regular human would have to be carted to a hospital on the double, but …

"Wizards are more resilient to Muggle-style fighting." Uther had joined them on the terrace, and was waving at Arthur, who didn't seem to care to be seen by everyone in his nightshirt. "Good lance, son!" Uther shouted.

"One more lance," Sirius told James, whistling for and _nickering_ at James' steed, who seemed in as foul a mood as James himself, and apparently needed some convincing. And was Arthur's horse laughing at it?

"Does he speak horse?" The Doctor wondered.

"It appears so, yes," Uther said musingly. "With a bit of an accent, granted. James however, speaks horse like a native." And _of course_ that was perfectly _normal_ , and Uther was smug about it.

"You lot learn animal languages?" the Doctor asked, watching James neigh and prance and… sic his horse on Sirius.

"Not as a rule," was the answer. "But it's not unheard-of; Animagi have that trait. They usually can communicate with members of their own species only, but those two seem to have overcome that obstacle."

"Wait, you know they are Animagi?"

"It takes one to know one," Uther replied. "Besides, why wouldn't they be? It runs in the family."

"I turn into a raven," Merlin supplied.

"I turn into a lion, as do several of my relatives."

"You do recall that these two come from what, almost two thousand years in the future, right?"

"Our direct descendants," Merlin said with a nod.

"What are the odds?"

"Seven hundred and seventy-three trillion, two hundred billion, four hundred and ninety-nine million nine hundred thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine to one, give or take a billion," said the Doctor.

"That's right my friend." Merlin smiled widely, making the Doctor chuckle. If there was one thing Merlin knew zilch about, that was math. Statistics? _Pfft_.

"We couldn't be prouder." Uther clapped the Doctor on the back, glancing at the scene downstairs, where Sirius was being chased out of the jousting arena by James' horse and trying to bribe it with apples and carrots. "We should go to breakfast."

"Aye, before my grandson wipes our larders clean."

"About that," Uther cut in as they made their way down the corridors towards the grand staircase, "he's just about done that; we had to send Rubelius to the market this morning, it appears your grandson got peckish earlier, and Rosie and the bakers have all hands full just trying to keep him from invading their kitchens every five minutes."

"Not that she minds." Merlin winked at Uther, who shook his head lightly.

"She doesn't, that's part of the problem," he replied. "It's everyone else who isn't thrilled at having to work day and night to feed just one lad."

"We should have a talk with Yvonne of Torchwood," the Doctor suggested. "She put the biomagnetic frequency transducer on him, I'm sure she knows how to disable it."

"Oh yes, the hag." Merlin clapped himself on the forehead. "I'd forgotten all about her."

"Let us feast first," Uther suggested. "Then we shall make her speak."

"We must also find my Truly Secret Chamber of Secrecy," Merlin added. "I seem to have misplaced it." He didn't seem too bothered by that fact.

"It's right this way," the Doctor said, striking up the path to the hidden chamber, to the delight of the old wizard.

"I knew it would be useful to keep you around."

.

* * *

.

"Oh _Mordred dea_ r, go get the dragons, she says," Mordred muttered to Severance, who was following him up a steep, narrow path up a craggy rock. " _Mordred dear_ , you won't be bored," he mimicked Morgana to a tee, as Severance hugged his way up the rocky outcrop. "Bloody things are _nesting_ , and she wants them attacking the village. This is not good."

"I agree, sire. But what can we do?"

"Figure out how to lure the dragons to Camelot village without being roasted alive," Mordred muttered, his silver-blond hair whipping this way and that in the wind.

"We could steal an egg," Severance suggested. "They'd all follow it to the ends of the earth."

"Very well. You do that Severance, I'll be lookout." Mordred sat down on top of the rock, and waved him off. Severance didn't move. In the valley below, fifty or sixty dragons were roosting, having come from all corners of the earth to mate and raise their young. This was only a fraction of how many dragons flocked to Wales and the Briton kingdoms to the south, but these were all early roosters, and there were no eggs yet.

Not that Severance was mad enough to anger them all by stealing one.

It was suicide.

"I see no nests," he said, rather than voice his opinion on Mordred Malefois and the Lady Morgana. Either of them could — and would — make mince of him if they knew what he really thought of them, and he wasn't entirely stupid.

"Steal a youngling then," Mordred suggested. "Look at that tiny one over there."

The tiny dragon was three feet long. And looked quite deadly.

"And how am I supposed to do that?"

"Levitate it, shrink it and bind it." Mordred replied easily. Inwardly, though, he was worried that this would have a bad outcome.

"And what about the two score grown dragons out there?" Severance hissed.

"You're right. Give me a head start, I'll be over by the horses."

 _Pop_. Mordred was gone.

Severance let out a heavy sigh, then tried to reach the dragon as quietly as possible. It wasn't much; he was muttering to himself all the while, much as Mordred had done earlier.

Mordred appeared next to the horses. Or rather, the old draught horse from his father's stables, and Severance's mule, from… Circe knew where. He eyed the animals critically, aware that they wouldn't be able to outrun the dragons. If he jogged fast, they couldn't outrun _him_.

He cast a boundless energy spell on them and the bags of bones perked up, chewing restlessly at their bits.

Better.

Too bad it wasn't an eternal energy spell. It would run out within the hour.

 _RAWR_!

Mordred gave a little jump. He turned towards the valley he had left a few minutes earlier. An almighty, many-voiced roar was rising from the dragons' nesting place, rising, _rising_ … like a storm. It was thunder and lightning, hail and gusts of superheated wind, furious screeches and the sound of wings.

 _CRACK_.

"We've got to go," Severance gasped, suddenly next to him. Mordred gave another jump. "They're coming."

"All of them?"

" _All_ of them!" Only then did Mordred see the wildly struggling white dragon in Severance's arms. He had shrunk it, and it was now roughly the size of a large sweet potato, but it was fighting its bonds with fierce resolve.

"Let us leave, now!"

Mordred leapt on his mount, which reared up at once — and found himself suddenly in the possession of the tiny, furious dragon.

"What am I supposed to do with this?!"

" _Ruuuuun_!" Severance's mule, which was usually stubborn as… well, a mule, sped past Mordred's horse.

The dragons were closing in, fast.

Mordred spurred his horse on, yelling, " _AAAAAHHHHH_!"

.

* * *

.

Meanwhile, outside the Camelot dungeons…

"I like your jest of practice!" Artie beamed at James and Sirius, who were still laughing, supporting each other as they went. Sirius, the older one, threw himself bodily on the grass and stretched out like a cat in the sun. He looked very satisfied with the world.

"I am glad you did," James grinned back, flopping down on the grass next to Sirius and helping himself to more cider from the basket of goodies. He took a swig, then passed the bottle around.

"So, that is how you take revenge?" Sirius the tiny asked.

"Well, it was revenge that time," James replied. "Usually we just do it for the laughs."

"How does that work?" Artie asked, catching the bottle. "They weren't laughing back there."

"Not usually, no," Sirius, the proper one, said musingly. "See, there's pranks and then there's pranks." Upon seeing the clueless looks he was on the receiving end of, he elaborated. "This was a revenge prank, and I could care less if that hag Yvonne or her goons get hurt. If they do, it serves them just right. But it was a good laugh for us, wasn't it?" Artie nodded, very keen on understanding what this novel way of exacting justice entailed. "But usually pranks aren't about revenge at all. Usually, they're funny for everyone involved, and the best are even funny to the victims."

"'Course, not everyone can take a joke… er, a jest," James pitched in. "Some people —"

" _Evans_."

"— don't like being laughed at or finding frog spawn in their book bags."

"We call those people Evans," Sirius supplied. "But mostly, its about ridicule, or breaking rules that are stupid. Or just having fun."

"Like for example, if we let the fire imps loose on the castle…"

"That wouldn't be a prank, that would be arson."

Sirius the tiny let out a barking laugh.

"It's funny because he said arse." They all sniggered.

"But if we let loose some fireworks that sang shrill tunes," James said, "most people would find it funny."

"Unless they're an Evans."

"You're _getting it_ , Artie. Good man." Sirius gave him the thumbs up.

"So why use those jests for revenge?"

"Because mockery is powerful. It shames the victim, and may make them change their ways."

"More than even kicking their arses could." They sniggered again. "Without hurting anyone, or making too big a fuss out of it."

Artie's eyebrows rose in appreciation at James' and Sirius' wisdom.

"I like that," he said, nodding to himself. "Where did you gain all that knowledge?"

"Oh, at school, mostly."

"Ssskool?" Artie and Sirius echoed. Clearly they had never heard the word before.

"What is that?"

"School? It's where young witches and wizards go to learn magic. It's called Hogwarts." James informed.

"It's a castle, founded by the four greatest wizards and witches of their age." Sirius and James exchanged a look and a grin. Those were good times.

"They took in all the magical children and taught them magic and stuff," James resumed his tale while Sirius rummaged around in his basket. "It's great fun, but there's a lot of homework involved."

"Yeah but its more fun than work," Sirius pointed out. "And the students are Sorted into Houses, according to their personality."

"The castle is enormous," James added. "Full of passages and secret rooms and hidden artefacts and all."

"I like it," Artie decided. "It sounds interesting, I shall tell my friend Rowena about it; she's always wanting uncle Merlin to make her books and then making me read them. She's a terror and she's just eight. She'd like to have a castle full of witches and wizards to torture… er, teach."

Sirius glanced at James past his umpteenth roll, raising an eyebrow.

 _Man, did we just_ _**invent** _ _Hogwarts?_

James shrugged.

 _Probably_.

Artie drained the bottle of cider, getting to his feet.

"I believe you have goodly and great ideas, and I would appreciate your input. Follow me, lords cousins."

They followed him to Camelot Castle's main courtyard, intrigued.

Gwen was waiting there, beaming at them. James hid behind Sirius.

"Good morning, my good lady Guinevere," Artie said, making googly eyes at her.

 _You didn't tell me the PISS was inherited_ , Sirius commented in James' head.

_Shut up._

"Hi, Lady Guinevere," Sirius said aloud. James mumbled his hellos.

"I can't go to that picnic with you," he added, remembering he was supposed to be with her earlier. He'd stood her up without meaning to at all, and why did he feel bad about it?

Gwen gave James an amused — and rather petulant, Sirius thought — sideways glance, stepping up to Artie and fiddling with his doublet.

"Who would want to go anywhere with you, lord Potter?" she asked, raising a slender eyebrow at him. "I wanted to ask Prince _Arthur_ if he would wish to join me later today… I witnessed your prowess in the jousting arena this morning." She smiled brightly at him. "I _liked_ it."

James stared. Sirius grinned. Sirius rolled his eyes. Artie stammered out something like an affirmative response, and the four of them watched her leave, following the way her hips swayed to an unheard rhythm in silence.

Which Sirius broke, clapping James on the back.

"You're off the hook," he beamed at his best friend. "Your bloodline is safe!"

"I _like_ her!" James hissed. He felt rejected, and novel as the feeling _wasn't_ , on account of Evans… it felt so nasty.

"I know, Weatherby."

"Shut your face, Black."

"Ooh. Someone's bitter."

"You'll be bitter in a few. Just you wait."

"Look at it on the bright side. You won't have to joust the Berserkermagus again."

"Good point. I still hate you."

"I wanted… to show you… something," Artie seemed to have shaken off his Potter love daze, and remembered that they were doing something. He grinned all the way to that something, and didn't stop grinning after.

And that something Artie wanted to show them was… a table inside a barn.

"Behold," Artie said to his intrigued friends, "the Octagonal Table of Camelot!"

"Er." said James. He too, seemed to have resigned himself to his fate as a Potter and not a Weatherby and was trying to shake off his rejection.

"What's the hole in the middle for?" asked Sirius.

"Oh, I'm putting a fireplace in there. It symbolises… greatness."

"So it's just for roasting meat?" Sirius was clearly already thinking of trying it out.

"Well, when I'm king, I'm going to want my most trusted knights to advise me, not as servants but as equals," Artie told Sirius. "But yes, I reckon we can also roast stuff."

"So you'll only have seven knights?" James asked.

"No," Artie replied. "I'll have many in my great kingdom."

"Then that table won't work," Sirius decided, tossing a grape in the air and catching it in his mouth.

"Why not?"

"Well it works with _eight_ people," James stated.

"But any more than that, some will be sitting next to a corner and won't manage to reach the middle," Sirius finished for him. "There'd be no equality when roasting stuff."

"You are right, lords!" Artie exclaimed. "I knew there was something missing!" He waved his wand, and the table acquired… "More corners!"

"Er." said Sirius.

"Er." said James.

"Behold, the icosikaihexagonal table of Camelot."

"Icosi—" Sirius chuckled. "Artie, I can't even _pronounce_ that!"

"You need something simpler," James suggested. "Without so many corners."

"Like… a _triangle_?"

"Try even less corners than that."

Artie gave James a confused look.

"Try no corners at all," Sirius suggested next, taking pity on him.

"Uh…"

"Jeez, Artie. Just make it _round_."

"Round. The Round Table of Camelot."

"It has a ring to it, doesn't it?" James asked, smiling. "Get it? Round table, ring?"

"One ring to rule them all," Sirius grinned too. James laughed.

_You're such a nerd._

_Better than being a tard._

"I knew you'd help me," Artie said with satisfaction. He turned the table into one large, wooden donut.

"See? This way, everyone can reach when you roast marshmallows."

"What's marshmallows?" Artie seemed utterly mystified again.

" _Nothing_ compared to indoor plumbing," James told him.

"Indoor…"

"And wait till we tell you about TP." Sirius gave James a knowing nod. "Can't have one without the other."

"Fear! Fire! Foes!" interrupted them. Someone was racing across the courtyard towards the Great Hall.

_Will you look at that, Prongs. It's a…_

_Tiny Hagrid. I see it, Pads. I just can't believe it._

_What is he, three foot tall?_

_Thereabouts. He's about as tall as our Hagrid's_ _**hand** _ _._

"What's the matter, Rubelius?" Artie had quite the loud voice when he wanted. Sirius cringed, but the smallest version of the Hogwarts groundskeeper they had ever seen redirected his race towards them.

"My lord!" he exclaimed, wringing his tiny hands with worry. "Dragons, my lord! Over two score of them! In the village! I was buying the viands for tonight's feast, and I saw them! They're razing the village!"

 _Dragons, James! The dragons!_ Sirius exclaimed in James' head.

_Yeah, I heard him Padfoot, no need to leave my brain deaf._

_We've got to save them!_

_The people?_

_Sure, if you want. I meant the_ _**dragons** _ _!_

"We're on it," James said at once, hurrying off after Sirius, who was already racing across the courtyard, in search of a pair of brooms.

"Go tell the king," Artie ordered the tiniest Hagrid, who sped off. He was _nimble_ for someone with such tiny legs. "What's the lord Black _doing_?"

"Getting us rides," James said. "Don't you fly on brooms?"

" _Fly_? No," Artie was back to the clueless look. Up ahead, Sirius was tossing broomsticks over his shoulder.

"These don't work!" Sirius shouted over his shoulder. "Where do they keep the proper ones?"

"What do you use those for, then?" Now James was confused.

"Sweeping?" Artie looked so lost.

" _WHAT_?" James was scandalised. "Why would you _do_ that?"

"Er."

"What year is this? How do you even get _around_?"

"386," Sirius the tiny replied. "And we usually—"

"Never mind," Sirius called. "Get some rope, I'll charm us some. Chop, chop!"

"What does he want rope for?" Sirius the tiny looked half asleep; there was straw in his hair. Only then did James realise that he'd sort of vanished while they were getting the table tour. To judge by the drying drool on his cheek, the bleary eyes and squinting, not to mention the smell of him, the hangover had finally kicked in.

"Probably to catch himself a dragon to call his own." James explained, shrugging at Artie's and Sirius' baffled expressions. "He's wanted one for ever and a day. So," he clapped his hands together. "Rope? Lots of it?"

"Er. Sure. Right this way."

A few moments later, Sirius and James were airborne, flying towards the village at a very decent seventy miles per hour. The cushioning charms and the brakes were wonky, though.

"I did them in a hurry," Sirius pointed out before James complained about the pain to the backside.

"I wasn't going to say anything."

"The hell you weren't."

"Can you believe they don't fly on brooms? Like, at _all_?" James asked, to keep Sirius' mind (and chiefly, his own) from the awful ride the brooms turned out to be on the bottom. He'd missed flying, though, and at least, these things were fast. Even if they were made in a hurry, he had to give Sirius credit for solid spell-work.

Sirius shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"How do they even get around?" he asked.

"Beats me," James replied, "but we probably shouldn't expect backup any time soon."

"Yuh."

"So what's the plan?"

"No idea." Sirius gave him a toothy grin. James snorted, then grinned back.

"As we go along?" he asked, but he already knew the answer.

"Yep."

"Sounds good to me."

They hovered to a halt — sort of , the brakes were _definitely_ wonky — when they spotted the dragons.

James gaped.

"Padfoot… we're going to need loads more rope."

A few feet away, Sirius was gaping too, watching over fifty gigantic Welsh dragons in all possible colours circling and swooping around the village. A few houses were on fire; people were running around screaming. James thought it was scary.

Sirius' expression however, was one of utter rapture.

.

* * *

.

"You stupid, stubborn, blasted boar-headed _box_!"

Morgana le Fey, the most feared witch of the old world, role-model for all Dark Ones to ever follow, did so _not_ look the part of the Dark Lady everyone, even you, have engraved in their minds; her usually sleek black hair was badly undone; her dress, a dark green affair that had not been the newest before, had acquired more rips and tears; her hand, face and even feet were muddy; her face was flushed, and she'd lost the heel of her left shoe.

The Blue Box was sniggering.

 _Sniggering_! At _her_!

The key she had used still hadn't budged from the half-turn she had managed hours earlier, and it was through no fault of the key itself; it was because that damned Box didn't want to open the door.

It was not animated, she knew. The Box was _alive_. And it wasn't going to let her in, because it didn't like her.

Morgana blew a strand of muddy hair out of her face, glaring at the Blue Box. Inside, though, her mind was racing, hatching a plan.

She would try once more. Just the once; afterwards, she would need the Lord Crouch to open the Box for her— or at least, the Box would have to believe she was the Lord Crouch.

The Box hummed a challenge.

Morgana charged.

"EEEEEEEEEEEE!"

She leapt at the key, casting a strong-arm spell as she did—

The key turned.

The doors opened wide, and Morgana leapt inside.

The TARDIS lurched. If anyone had been passing by, they'd have seen a large box twisting this way and that, looking like a cat trying to spit out a large hairball.

The TARDIS wheezed and hummed and the gears deep inside were screeching—

The doors opened wide again, and Morgana was sent flying out, key and all. Instantly, she charged once more like a raging bull.

The doors slammed shut in her face.

The Blue Box wasn't laughing anymore. Now it was growling.

Morgana smiled to herself. She had figured it out. She knew now how to best this little magical monster and bend it to her will.

Overhead, a flock (or was it a gaggle?) of dragons obscured the Sun for a few seconds.

Morgana turned tail and ran. It was time to act.

.

* * *

.

"King Uther! Lord Myrddin! Fear! Fire! Foes!"

"Calm yourself Rubelius. What is the cause for such uproar?" Uther was, however calm his words might have sounded, half out of his seat already.

Along the king's table, a dozen curious faces fixed themselves on the tiny, bushy-haired wizard, who was so excited he was trembling like jell-o.

"Dragons, your Majesty! There are dragons on the loose in the village!"

"What?"

"They're burning the fields, sire."

"I told you it was an impending problem," Merlin reminded him, but he seemed to be thinking hard. "They always go wild around nesting season." Uther left him to it, now wholly out of his seat and barking orders, calling for his guard, his knights, and his son.

On his other side, the Doctor looked from one to the other, his mind making connections, adding up everything he knew about dragons. It was surprisingly little, except for what he'd learned from Merlin and the boys a couple of days prior.

He watched Uther assemble knights and his army, hastily making a plan to protect the villagers; he saw Merlin thinking hard, his forehead a single crease.

"Can the dragons be lured away?" The Doctor asked.

"With a strong enough mating call, or another dragon, it could be done. But they have never come this far to the West. They usually nest over here near the Valley of Fog."

Wherever that was.

The Doctor wasn't thinking about geography, however. When he leapt to his feet, he was filled with boundless energy.

"I'll get my TARDIS," he said. "I'll lure the dragons away with a mating call. I can broadcast that easily enough."

He dashed off, running through the ranks of Uther's knights, which resulted in a bit of a commotion.

"Oops, sorry! Passing through! Passing through— sorry again. Here's your spear back," he twisted around to return the spear that had snagged on his coat, and as he leapt out of the throng of knights and soldiers, he came face to face with—

" _Not you again_!" The Doctor wailed in frustration, even as his momentum carried him smack into her arms. He could see her puckering up.

Elaine of Aquitaine.

She grabbed him, reached around and pinched his bottom, then pulled him close… and kissed him.

It was a mind-blowing sort of kiss, one that made him feel like she was sucking him out of his own mouth.

When she let go, the Doctor staggered backwards and flopped down, feeling quite boneless.

The knights laughed.

He shook his head to clear it; everything was swimming. He was only vaguely aware that Elaine had vanished, the echo of her laugh fading in the courtyard.

It took the Doctor a handful of minutes to regain his composure and remember that he was on the way to his TARDIS and that there was a purpose to it this time. Still a little unsteady, he hurried out of the castle and to the clearing where he'd parked.

He hurtled through the forest, jumping over bracken and getting tangled in the undergrowth, until he reached the edge of the clearing. He could hear a female voice up ahead, announcing she was Morgana le Fay, and within a few moments, he could also see her and who, exactly, she was threatening.

Elaine was there, skidding to a halt by the TARDIS door. She stuck the key in the lock. The TARDIS was wheezing, groaning… growling.

The Doctor had never heard it _growl_.

"Wait!" The Doctor shouted. "Stop! What are you doing?!"

She turned the lock with a triumphant laugh — "HA HA!" — and kicked the door open.

Elaine's face melted off, her blond hair turning ash black, even as she stepped into the TARDIS and slammed the door shut in the Doctor's face.

.

* * *

.

She had suspected there was a commotion when all the guards took off and the bells started tolling, echoing ominously off the dungeon walls.

She had listened attentively to the comings and goings overhead, the frantic shouted orders, the clanging of metal weaponry, had felt the thunder of a thousand hooves galloping away overhead.

Something was going on topside, and she would definitely take advantage of it.

The morning had been spent being attacked by those tiny creatures that had sprouted from king Uther's body, but it all seemed so quiet now. Will, Tom-Tom and Jack had all reverted to silence, and Yvonne didn't blame them. She didn't much feel like talking after being bounced around, scorched, picked on, buried in liquid rock, only to be spat out again and zapped by the tiny buggers.

They had vanished a few minutes ago in a myriad clouds of glittering smoke, though, and it had been quiet since.

Yvonne stared at the open doorway of her cell. It was closed, though, the gate was still there, only invisible, and she remembered it well enough. Maybe, if she found the lock she could pick it.

Or… she realised upon coming closer to the doorway, she could just use the keys lying around in the passage.

Yvonne Hartmann looked around the stinky, slimy and dark cell. There had to be something that she could use to get herself — and maybe even her operatives — out of this cell and out of this time.

She made herself a length of rope using straw and bits of Uther's clothing and lasso'd the key ring lying there.

Yvonne smiled with cold determination. She would totally get out of here. She tugged at the keys, pulling them carefully towards herself, and then she reached out to grab them—

 _Clink_.

The keys were back where they'd started, just out of reach of her grasp.

" _Grah_!"

Yvonne tried again.

.

* * *

.

"Have you ever, _ever_ seen something so…"

"Terrifying?" James supplied. They were watching the chaos unfold in the village below.

" _Beautiful_." Sirius corrected, transfixed by a sight that would have sent anyone with a pinch of sense running for the hills. Which, James noted, the villagers were already doing. Why wasn't he? Why wasn't Sirius?

"You're insane."

"They'd agree with you."

"No. You're _barking_."

"Only part-time." Sirius watched the dragons, enthralled. He had totally gotten the PISS. "I want one."

"You can't have one." James thought it was high time he put his foot down. He shook his head resolutely.

"I let you keep that badger, didn't I?"

"It was hurt! And we let it go once we'd healed it! And, YOU'RE NOT GETTING A PET DRAGON!"

"Yes I am," Sirius said. "And you're helping me." Was it the certainty in Sirius' tone? Or was it that James himself had always wanted to have a dragon too?

Whichever it was, he relented.

"Okay, of course I'll help — gods, what I _do_ for you — but _how_? There's at least a hundred of them!"

"Fifty-three," Sirius corrected. He'd been counting while they hovered.

"Remember that once when you had the brilliant idea to tickle one?"

"Yeah, but that was a Ridgeback." Sirius said in his defence.

"Who cares! It was a dragon. As in, _one_ dragon."

"Your point, Prongs? We are in a bit of a hurry."

"That there's fifty-three now! And they're already angry!"

"They're also looking for something." Sirius pointed towards the church — which was a straw hut like the rest, only much larger and mostly made of stone, with a wooden steeple, and a stone belfry where the church bells were ringing out the alarm. Sirius was screwing up his face at the noise.

The dragons were circling around it, and was it James or were the angriest of the lot trying to dismantle the belfry? Not burning it; they were taking it apart, pulling bits of roof and rafters out like toothpicks.

It was like watching an oversized game of Jenga.

"I'll check it out, you keep them busy." Sirius cast a spell at the bells, freezing them in place. The din stopped.

"Keep them busy _how_?" James didn't have time to wonder. Already Sirius was speeding towards the church, weaving his way through the throng of angry dragons. James followed, glad that Sirius hadn't botched up the swerving spells. As brooms went, these were pretty decent, although he did miss the Triumph motorbike in times like these; nothing came close to it, they'd taken the better part of a year to turn the rust bucket into the best flying vehicle in the world.

However.

He had no time to wish for stuff here, he was lagging behind and that just wouldn't do. What Sirius was doing, namely beating most of the dragons to the belfry, seemed to be angering the said dragons, and James spotted a huge green opening its cavernous maw, entirely too close to his friend's head.

James swooped down, grabbed a pumpkin from a stall — thank goodness for market day — and lobbed it straight into the dragon's mouth, before it could snack on Sirius.

"That's how we do it, uh-huh, uh-huh!" James exclaimed, doing a tiny victory dance. He wasn't afraid anymore; this was just like some Quidditch practices he and Sirius had come up with over the holidays. The dragon he'd hit broke off the main group, choking for a bit until it swallowed the pumpkin.

That left fifty-two.

Sirius was nearly at the belfry, and James hadn't been wrong; the dragons _were_ trying to take the tower apart. They had taken the roof off with their talons, and the priest who had been ringing the bells had run away at a scramble.

 _Prongs, there's definitely something down in that tower, we need to distract them_.

_I'm open to suggestions._

_Defence play 33?_

James pondered the matter, doing a loop to dodge one of the flying beasts.

_You're on._

James flicked his wand at the market stalls below, summoning himself some ammunition, while Sirius summoned himself a club.

Defence play 33 was his favourite, because he got to whack bludgers wherever he pleased, using his entire team (even the Seeker) as dispensers. They were to kick or lure bludgers his way, and he and Caradoc would whack them at the opposing team. This usually resulted in all others being knocked out or slowed down enough for Gryffindor to steamroller the other team, so they didn't often use the move.

With James as chaser, it had only been necessary twice in as many years, and could only be countered by knocking out the beaters.

Thankfully, the dragons had no idea about Quidditch, beaters, or indeed flying projectiles.

Soon the air was filled with flying produce; lettuce, cabbages, a sack full of potatoes, pumpkins, even gherkins flew across the air, distracting the dragons and throwing them off their intended paths, making them fly into each other, and generally creating confusion in the previously precise and surprisingly harmonious flight path they had followed. Like a flock, circling their target at a hundred miles per hour… until James and Sirius arrived and disrupted all that.

It was bedlam, and not quite convenient, as he soon realised.

One of them had grabbed a rock from the tower, when James hit it with a basket of eggs, full in the face. It screeched and flapped around wildly, its eyes covered in yolk. The next instant it was letting go of the rock— and hitting the biggest bell with a reverberating _CLANG_.

"Oh, crap." James muttered. He saw Sirius, who'd been quite close to the bloody bell, let go of his broom.

Sirius' hands went to his over-sensitive ears, but he was already free-falling, headed straight into the gap between bell and tower, and didn't even try to slow his own fall. James sped up, casting a stopping charm on Sirius and hitting the bell instead… which turned out to be unnecessary a moment later.

Some of the dragons he'd pelted with veg had crashed into one another, causing a domino effect of utter mayhem in the air.

Sirius crash-landed in the belfry with a yelp, a split second before a huge blue dragon crashed bodily _into_ the tower, taking half the structure and the blasted bells with it. As well as one of the nearest huts.

Not an instant later, a small red dragon — a juvenile, James' mind supplied — fell into the tower much like Sirius had and went all the way down, powerful wings flapping to escape the stone and wood structure that was crumbling along with it.

A cloud of dust rose up, along with James' panic.

"SIRIUS!" he roared, already trying to figure out a spell to get him out from under the tower, which was rapidly being turned into rubble from the top down.

His wasn't the only voice that yelled: fifty dragons screeched as one, but their voices were not angry — they were _afraid_.

And that made James stop.

James' dragon speak wasn't as good as his deer, or horse, or even dog, but… all animals understood fear and loss, and the meaning of that deafening chorus wasn't lost on him. Sirius had been right, they'd been looking for something: their baby. And they feared it was lost, just like James feared that Sirius was —

 _PRONGS!_ The shout exploding in his mind nearly unseated him. Sirius was alive down there — he hadn't doubted that, of course — but he wasn't scared, and if he was hurt, there wasn't any way of telling. Because the madman he had for a brother was _ecstatic_.

_You'll never believe what I found!_

_There's a dragon that fell in after you!_ James shouted back in his head.

 _His name's Grimnir,_ Sirius corrected. _He's my new friend. And I found — look!_

An image flashed before James' eye. Sirius was looking at a tiny, panicked white dragon, which had been cruelly bound with a length of magical chain. Sirius was trying to get the chain off, but the baby dragon was squirming too much.

_This is what, or rather who, they're looking for. I'll need your help to get these off._

_You need to get out of there! The others are panicking!_

_Gimme a sec._

The connection broke, and James flew lower, narrowly avoiding getting hit by flying rocks.

 _Look out Prongs! Shield up, now!_ James didn't look — he just obeyed, and not a moment too soon.

Suddenly there was a roar… and the tower exploded. Fifty-two dragons were sent hurtling high up into the air, but James' shield spell held.

Out of the rubble of the tower, the juvenile red dragon emerged — and a laughing Sirius was sitting on its back, holding a smaller white one.

"Atta boy, Grimnir," Sirius patted the dragon's neck affectionately, then waved at James to fly closer. James did, looking over his shoulder.

"You mad, brilliant, crazy bloody _bastard_!" James exclaimed. "How did you _do_ that?"

"Grimnir, meet James. He's friend, not food. Remember that." Sirius grinned at James. "I'll tell you later, we need to get these guys out of here before they get hunted down—" Sirius pointed at the army hurrying towards the village, "we've got to take them to a safe spot. And we need to break these bloody chains. I can't do it."

For an explanation, Sirius handed the bound dragon to James, who cradled it in his arms. It was surprisingly warm to the touch and had the most pitiful frightened eyes he'd ever seen. It was also no bigger or heavier than a Quaffle.

"Someone did this," James muttered in outrage, hovering in place next to Sirius, and stroking the little dragon's head to calm it down. "Someone lured the dragons here — who would do such a thing?"

"Dunno. But it stinks. Like Snape."

"What?"

"The scent on him. It was, y'know. Snape stink."

"His ancestor?"

Sirius shrugged his answer.

"We'll figure it out. But first, we need to get these guys someplace they won't be hunted to extinction. You heard what Merlin said about needing a safe nesting place." Sirius took the small dragon, and gestured for James to hop on behind him.

Grimnir was a fast flyer, James found out when Sirius murmured something into his ear that made him speed up. It wasn't a moment too soon; already the other dragons had recovered from being hurled into the air and were roaring their challenges as they came in pursuit. And now they were sending jets of fire their way.

"Snowdonia?" James suggested, fiddling with his wand, while Sirius held the small dragon in his arms, calming it down with a few croons.

"Yeah. There's been a dragon reserve there forever. And this lot are Welsh."

"When did your dragon speak get so good?" James asked, tapping the chains in a pattern to start undoing the spellwork on them.

"Just now," Sirius answered, pulling James down to dodge an open flame. "All I can really say without an accent is, 'I want mutton' and 'you'll be okay.' I guess they're desperate enough to trust me."

"Can you only think about food? Even now?"

"Shush. I'm starving. And my head's killing me."

"I'll get you something," James promised, snapping the chains. The tiny white dragon instantly jumped on his shoulder and cried out, flexing its wings. James laughed, startled.

Sirius gave him the thumbs-up, then turned to Grimnir and crooned something at him. It didn't sound like 'I want mutton', but James wouldn't put it past him.

The red dragon turned about and let out a series of screeches and roars that made the wild chase come to an abrupt stop.

"What did you tell him?" James asked out of the corner of his mouth, staring at the many animals they were facing.

"That his little brother was free."

The dragons were a sight to behold: they varied in size and colours, but there was no mistaking the sheer raw power of them as they hovered in midair as one. It was beautiful and intimidating all at once.

The little white dragon perched on James' head and let out a shrill cry that made Sirius flinch. The huge blue dragon James remembered demolishing the tower earlier peeled off the group and came closer.

Its breath stank of rotting meat. And James could tell, because the huge sharp fangs were inches from his face.

James held his breath, fighting the sudden instinct, so natural among deer, to flee from the predator.

But nothing happened. The tiny white dragon flapped its wings and crooned at James, like a weird winged kitten.

"He likes you. And his mum says he's smaller than he used to be," Sirius told him.

The blue dragon nudged James so hard, he nearly fell off Grimnir's back. Sirius steadied him, and were the beasts _laughing_?

"She says thanks — _whoa_!" Sirius had gotten a friendly nudge too, and now it was James' turn to pull him up.

"Don't you find it odd?" James wondered a while later, stretched out on his very own white dragon. He went by the name of Snow and was Grimnir's baby brother. Once James had returned him to his normal size, he was almost as large too, and insisted on taking James to the new place of nests, as the two Marauders had promised. The peak of Mount Snowdon was nearby, which meant the ride was nearly at an end.

"What?"

"In our time, dragons are wild and fierce, they're bloodthirsty and like, untameable… but these are…"

"Friendlier?" Sirius finished for him. "Yeah, it is odd."

"Do you think we did that? I mean, wizard kind. Over the centuries. Did _we_ make them hostile?"

"Just one more thing our kind has screwed up," Sirius responded. He was lying face up on Grimnir, staring at the sky overhead. "There's this bloke, a dragon hunter, and Merlin was worried about him coming to Camelot. He's called George. As in, _Saint_ George. You know how _that_ story pans out."

"He'd have wiped them out. They weren't even going after the villagers."

"No. They're too trusting, and I don't know how to make them understand that being near people is bad for them. But George won't get this lot, at least."

"Not today," James agreed, signalling Snow to land wherever he wanted up ahead. The Snowdonia Dragon Reserve had been created, one thousand years earlier than old Binns said, and James thought it was better so.

Some things _could_ be changed, and this, he decided as he watched the dragons start on their nests, was entirely worth changing the future for.

.

* * *

.

This time. This time for sure.

Morgana rushed to the clearing where the Blue Box stood. Already the bells of Camelot were tolling the alarm; Uther and his knights would go to battle the dragons, and nobody would miss the Blue Box, which she regarded as hers already.

Not until it was too late.

"We meet again, noble adversary," she purred. The Box snarled at her. "That attitude won't help you at all, you know. Know that I am Morgana le Fay, and I always get what I want. _Always_."

She focused on the Doctor, taking care to radiate the same energy signature she had imprinted onto herself…

This time, the key turned.

This time, it only took one kick to get the door open.

"Wait!" Came from a little ways away. "Stop! What are you doing?!"

Morgana stepped into the TARDIS. The lord Crouch was too late.

"No!" The Doctor shouted, and took a leap forward, but it was indeed too late; and though the Box shuddered and twisted this way and that as though it was made of rubber, it couldn't spit Morgana out again.

The TARDIS shot up, bouncing around in the air like a maraca, trying to shake the intruder off. It crashed into trees, spun around wildly, flickered on and off. Clouds closed in around the TARDIS, black and ominous. Thunder rumbled.

"NOOO! COME BACK!" The Doctor bellowed at the storm overhead, whipped around by the sudden gale, but instead, the TARDIS let out an almighty wail and disappeared.

The Doctor couldn't believe what was happening.

"It's gone. My TARDIS… _gone_."

.

* * *

TBC. Reviews welcome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: The Doctor freaks out like a boss. The Torchwood bunch cut a fake deal too many. Sirius loses his trusty wicker basket, sort of. The Doctor freaks out some more. Uther calls in a favour, and Mordred adopts the goats.


	11. Blue Box, Through Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter: The Doctor freaks out like a boss. The Torchwood bunch cut a fake deal too many. Sirius loses his trusty wicker basket, sort of. James gets jealous. The Doctor freaks out some more. Uther calls in a favour, Mordred adopts the goats, and Sirius loves dragons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: AKA, that thing that reminds you as a fanfic writer, of how little is actually yours. And you as reader, that all us fanfic writers get out of this, is the joy of a review. Because Doctor Who or Harry Potter aren't mine.

* * *

**Part Eleven: Blue Box, Through Time**

* * *

.

Uther was having a very hectic day, and no, it wasn't all that common; not in Camelot. Ruling a kingdom such as this, when you were a mighty wizard of the Ancient Houses, wasn't really all that hard.

He'd have hated the job were he a Muggle; there would have been so much _ruling_ going on, and wars to wage, and then all the rebuilding, and sorting things out. He was in the know; he'd been keeping tabs on his neighbours. Was it any surprise that they looked sixty when they were no older than thirty? They were so busy with their little spats for power and land, that they forgot to _live_.

However, _he_ wasn't getting on that boat; neither were most of his lords and ladies, and together they usually anticipated and fixed any problem the kingdom could have before it even occurred. As a result, Camelot was where everyone wanted to live, and in Camelot Castle, there was usually a celebration of some kind rather than the trite and old problems of averting famines and plagues and all that boring tosh.

People called it the blessed kingdom.

Uther liked the ring of that.

However, these last few days there had been so much work to be done, that he was considering creating the five-day workweek some 1600-odd years early.

He was presently riding back to the castle, after witnessing something utterly amazing. The two lads who had come for a visit from the future had been flying around the dragons on _broomsticks_! Broomsticks, would you believe!

He'd have charged in on one of his winged racing horses, himself, but he couldn't deny that this way was loads faster and… it looked very impressive.

 _Very_.

At his side, Arthur and Sirius were whooping, cheering them on— which was lost amid the roaring and screeching and flapping of wings. Uther was simply speechless.

Not that the time-travellers' choice of riding off _on_ dragons and leading every last one poor creature away before Uther and his knights had to put them down had been any less amazing.

All Uther and Merlin had had to do, was rebuild the destroyed steeple of the church before the villagers came back. Bells and towers always took so long to build, and Muggle methods were downright dangerous. Everything else was easily fixed, and it would give some of his retainers something to do. They were growing fat and bored, he could tell.

He turned to leave, just as the first villagers returned to the town. He grinned at them, flourishing a hand at the rebuilt church they liked so much.

" _Behold_ —"

"Thank _God_!" some of them exclaimed. Uther's grin became rather fixed. "A _miracle_! IT'S A MIRACLE FROM _GODDDD_!"

"Well, you see, actually, _I_ —" Uther sputtered, but Merlin beckoned him to leave.

"Don't waste your breath, old friend."

"But, Merlin, you saw how _I_ -"

"Trust the Muggles to credit the church with our every achievement," Merlin said, laughing into his beard.

"You reckon they're blind?" Uther asked. He wasn't finding it so funny. He hoped this new fad would wear off soon; he was growing bored with all the kneeling and grovelling and averting his eyes and all. Getting up early on Sundays, what was the point in _that_? Couldn't that new God be worshipped at a more sensible time?

Still grumbling, Uther left his knights to aid the villagers in the rebuilding efforts, without magic of course— that was for the dead of night, when more miracles would occur that would be attributed to _Godddd_ again — and returned to Camelot Castle to celebrate how well this adventure had played out, despite the villagers crediting this all-powerful all-knowing invisible man with everything that went remotely well.

Only, when he and Merlin returned to the castle, it wasn't to a peaceful welcome and a hearty celebratory feast.

Sir Doctor of TARDIS was going spare, running around the courtyard like a chicken without its head.

"Do you think he is practising his dragon mating call?" Merlin asked wryly, after they heard the first desperate roar. Uther decided he'd grow his beard long, if only to be able to chuckle under it like his lifelong friend did.

"Somehow I don't think that's what he's doing. Sir Doctor," he said genially, upon dismounting and striding towards their resident Lord of Time, "What is the problem?"

"It's _gone_! I can't believe it, but I saw— she must have made a biological transference and tricked it, she _took it_!" the Doctor looked at the king, ruffled his hair wildly, ran this wand thingy all over the nonplussed Uther, and then resumed his fast pacing. He was wearing a path in his courtyard, at the rate he was going.

"What's gone?" Merlin asked curiously. "If you mean the dragons…"

Uther somehow didn't think that was the thing of it.

"It's _GONE_! Don't you get it? Eh? Eh?" the Doctor was tapping his temple, as fast as he was speaking. "My TARDIS! The most powerful weapon in the universe, and she took it!"

Now that got both wizards attention.

"Father, I'm going to grab some horses and go find the lords Gryffindor and—"

"Yes, yes, go right ahead. Don't break anything," Uther waved him off, vaguely aware that he and the lord Black were racing each other to the stable where he kept his prize steeds.

Which, of course, he would never let his son borrow. Some things were just _private_. However, he was simply too focused on the Doctor to notice just now.

"She?" he asked. "Who is this _she_ you speak of?"

"The… Elaine," the Doctor answered. "She transformed when she went into the TARDIS, but she said she was Morgana."

"Morgana le Fey," Merlin groused. "That is not good."

"Not at all."

"What, she is real? Like the _real first evil witch_ real?" the Doctor threw his head back with a frustrated, " _Gaaaahhhrghh_!", stamping his feet and everything. It was a pretty good imitation of a dragon's mating call, Uther thought, but didn't say as much.

"He does go the full mile there, doesn't he." Merlin cocked an eyebrow. Uther snorted.

"And I thought _Arthur_ had a flair for drama."

"So what do we do now?" the Doctor asked desperately.

"I should say, we must go to my Truly Secret Chamber," Merlin replied matter-of-factly.

"This isn't a time for your bad sense of direction!" the Doctor wailed.

"No, it isn't," Merlin agreed. "But it isn't a time for wailing or screaming at the skies, either."

The Doctor, who was just getting ready for another howl of outrage at the skies, snapped his mouth shut.

"And while it will be very useful if you help me find my Truly Secret Chamber again," Merlin added, taking the Doctor by the arm and marching him to the castle, "I must go there so I can make you a Finder's Keeper's Amulet."

"A whadiwhasa?"

"Whadiwasa isn't a good name for it, no."

"A what? I mean, what?"

"Do you have anything from your Tardiness box?"

"It's TARDIS, it's an acronym for Time and Relative Dimension In Space."

"Acronum?"

"Acronym. You take the first letter of each word and spell out a new one."

Merlin cocked his head to the side, watching him through intense, clear blue eyes. The Doctor was reminded of Sirius yet again.

"You know? Never mind. I have… wrappers from the chocolates I keep in the kitchen, and a buoy from the pool, and this banana…" The Doctor rummaged in his pockets as he walked, showing the old wizard yet again where they'd hidden the chamber. "And a key, but I don't know if it's… _wait_." He shone his sonic screwdriver all over it. "It's the _real_ key," he announced. "How did she get _in_?"

"Well… she's a _witch_." Uther pointed out the obvious. He was strolling beside the Doctor, hands clasped behind his back. "The most — and first — truly evil witch of all time."

"She has to have taken the blue box of tarditude somewhere," Merlin reasoned, staying on point for once.

"Or some _when_ ," the Doctor corrected.

"In that case, you would have to wait another four to six years for my Time-Turner device to work."

"Like that's any good," the Doctor shook his head. "In four to six years, she'll have the entire universe bowing to her."

"At least we'll have some time to prepare, then."

"How can you be so calm about it, Uther?"

"This happens, oh… once, or maybe twice a month."

The Doctor stared.

"She steals the most powerful weapon in the universe _twice a month_?"

"Mmmno," said Merlin. "Sometimes she also steals tapestries."

"And crockery," Uther added.

"Mostly food from the kitchens."

"That one time," Uther said with a chuckle, "she made off with roof tiles from the outhouses."

While the wizards laughed, the Doctor, for the first time in long, long years, caught himself being worried. Like, really worried.

What could that witch be doing to his beloved TARDIS? The Doctor didn't want to think about it, but his gifted Time-Lord mind was already going over every scenario, every possibility.

And just this once, for longer than even he could remember, he felt outright _dread_.

It wasn't a nice feeling.

.

* * *

.

So… what _did_ happen to the TARDIS?

Heh. Well, nothing _yet_. The more appropriate question should be, what did the TARDIS do to _Morgana_?

Because, one thing might be said about this blue box: Morgana was _not_ having a good time in it.

She was being thrown every which way, slamming most unflatteringly into walls, and a table with buttons and levers and a thing that went _honk_ whenever her head smashed into it, and a strange old chair.

There was a lever on the table — one that was larger than the others scattered around, anyway — and as she was sent flying by the beast that only _looked_ like a box but was anything but, she grabbed onto it.

It moved with her and only made things worse.

Had Morgana le Fay known what a maraca was, then she would have recognised what the TARDIS was doing. It was shaking itself to the rhythm of _La Bamba_ in its attempts to get rid of her, wheezing and whining and screeching its gears wildly.

And then it hiccoughed halfway through the second chorus— and disappeared.

Morgana sailed through the air next, and vanished into the depths of what she rightly had labelled as the most magical of beasts in the universe.

All thoughts vanished from her mind as she tumbled down several flights of stairs and landed in a large pool with a _splash_.

The TARDIS hiccoughed again.

And again.

Each time it did, it appeared somewhere else. In the twenty-first century, the L.I.N.D.A. bunch were having a field day of TARDIS sightings, all over the world, in so many different eras...

It made their day.

 _Nerds_.

.

* * *

.

And what of our other villains?

We left Mordred and Severance to run for their lives, after stealing Snow the little dragon.

There isn't much to tell about that part of their adventure that you, dear reader, haven't already surmised; they hid the baby dragon in the belfry, then legged it from the village, as far and fast as they could go.

Severance's mule was the fastest — it was the most frightened of their mounts — and bolted toward Camelot Castle faster than you could say yee-haw!

Since this was a direction that was extremely convenient for its rider, he didn't try to make it stop. If anything, Severance urged the beast on, leaving Mordred far behind with a faceful of dirt.

As for his companion, he wasn't having as much luck with his own mount. The poor draught horse was old, nay _ancient_ , and the old bag of bones had no wind left in him, no matter how Mordred urged it to go faster.

In the end, faced with the prospect of being noshed on by those angry dragons, he turned down a muddy road and dismounted. It wasn't hard because his horse was staggering along rather than walking; he ended up levitating it after him, the old nag was all winded, and he might be the apprentice of an evil witch, but he wasn't about to leave it lying there on the road.

Much less with Morgana's house so close by.

Overhead, the dragons soared, letting out bloodcurdling roars and screeches that had both old Clapper's mane and Mordred's hair standing on end. Knees feeling rubbery, Mordred forced himself to continue running. He was nearly at the house, when one of the monstrous beasts made a grab for him, missing him and Clapper by inches.

Panting, Mordred ran faster, looking over his shoulder as he sought the — questionable — safety of the hut.

Then the dragon turned, hit them with its tail, and sent both horse and warlock flying. Startled and frightened bleating around them and the oh-so-familiar stable smell, told Mordred where they had landed. Next to him, old Clapper tried to get up, huffing.

Mordred decided to stay where he was, in the muck, surrounded by six goats.

It wasn't until Severance came cantering over on his own exhausted mount, that Mordred moved at all.

"Mordred! Mordred! Where are you?!"

"Are they gone?" Came from underneath a rust-red goat.

"Wh— oh, the dragons? Aye, they're attacking the village."

Mordred poked his head out amid the sea of chewing herbivores. Had Severance known what a periscope was, he'd have noted that the young Malefois looked just like one. But he didn't, so he merely thought he looked ridiculous hiding there.

He had news, news which couldn't wait.

"She's gone," he told Mordred. "The Lady Morgana is gone, vanished with the Blue Box!"

"What?"

"I got to the forest and saw her," Severance insisted. "She went inside, and the box started growing and shrinking and twisting about and it was shaking and flying and _gone_!"

"So the dragons, that was just a waste of our time? We just risked life and limb for… what?"

Severance had no answer to that.

"And what's going to happen to them?" He gestured at the animals around him.

"I do not know," Severance replied. He was still trying to get his head wrapped around the notion that Morgana was gone at all.

"I am going home," Mordred muttered, emerging fully from the pen. "Come, all of you. You can stay at my house. Come on, Clapper. Lead the way. You've earned yourself some carrots."

"But Mordred! We must find Morgana!" Severance exclaimed.

"You do that," Mordred clapped the older man on the shoulder. "Let me know if you find anything. Only, you know. Not."

.

* * *

.

Elsewhere around Wales…

The flying horses were a stormy grey, and Arthur took care to conjure a similarly grey cloudy backdrop so they wouldn't be seen.

"Which way did they go?" Lord Black asked, his voice higher pitched than usual in his excitement.

"Over there, past the dead marshes towards the snowy mountain yonder!" Arthur yelled back, his blond hair whipping in the wind. Should he turn the gale-force winds into a gentler breeze?

He decided he wouldn't.

It looked much nicer so, like they were on a _mission_.

Which they were, after a fashion. With luck, maybe they would even have to battle dragons and everything. In an epic, glorious, death-defying battle… to the _death_.

"Look!" cut his daydreaming short, and he followed lord Black's pointing finger to where he could see more dragons assembled than he cared to count.

This being the Middle Ages, Arthur really couldn't count. Unless it was corners for his table. In that regard, he was very advanced, but he had never cared to carry that skill over to anything that was actually useful.

The horses reared up, not at all happy about the prospect of landing in the middle of a group of their worst predators, and it was all Arthur could do to keep from falling off his.

The lord Black wasn't as strong, nor as capable; he was on an enormous horse, and he was only ten, after all. He lost his hold on reins, mane, and stirrups, and was soon hurtling down, spinning madly and yelling in high-pitched alarm.

Arthur wrestled his steed to go after him, but the horse was having none of it.

"Whoa, _whoa_!" Arthur yelled, trying to get his horse to fly down and rescue his cousin, while lord Black just kept getting smaller and smaller as he fell.

And then suddenly, the shriek of panic became one of delight. Arthur grabbed the reins of his steed firmly, steadied it… and saw that a white dragon had caught the younger boy on its back. The lord Gryffindor was sitting atop it, grinning widely.

"Ahoy hoy, your Artieness!" he yelled, and said something to the beast he was riding.

It let out a screech, and it was — forgive the pun — like magic. The dragons, which had been flying up, possibly to eat Uther's prize racing steeds and thus landing Arthur in a world of trouble, landed in their clearing instead, and started minding their own business. Then the lord Gryffindor said something else, and Artie's horse stopped trying to escape, and was suddenly tame.

Arthur decided he might have to take up learning horse. As a second language, like. It seemed like a useful skill to have.

Especially when the other steed, which had bolted after throwing its rider off, came back looking abashed.

"Am I glad to see you two," the lord Gryffindor said. "I hope you brought some food."

"No, lord Gryffindor," said Arthur. "It did not cross our minds."

"Just call me James, whenever you go all lord this and lord that, I feel like I have to look for my great-great-great-times-a-million granddad. Which is your dad."

"Very well. I still do not have any edibles."

"We'll have to find something. Sirius is starving."

"Where is the lord B—" Artie cut himself off when James gave him a warning look. "Sirius?" Arthur revised.

"He's down there. Come on, I'll introduce you to the dragons."

"As long as you don't introduce us into them."

" _Weeeee_!" the lord Black yelled. He looked like he had been frozen wearing the happiest expression ever seen by man. It was a little unsettling. "We're on a _dragon_!" He exclaimed to James, ecstatic.

"I noticed," James pointed out, laughing. "This here is Snow." He patted the dragon's neck, which crooned back.

"Hi, Snow!" the lord Black squeaked in delight.

Arthur smiled.

"He's the reason the dragons attacked the village," James added.

"How come?" Arthur was instantly intrigued.

"Someone tied him up, shrunk him, and put him in the church. The dragons were only worried and looking for him."

"Who would do such a thing?"

"I was hoping you could think of someone. Sirius said it was that dude, Severance."

"A dood?"

"Yeah. Dude, bloke, chap, guy, man."

"Ah."

"It sounds like something Severance Prince would do." The lord Black seemed very attached to the dragon Snow, he was all but fused to its neck, clearly enjoying himself to the fullest. "I _love_ dragons!"

"Don't we all," James replied, then added, "Isn't he a servant in the castle or something?"

"Yes, but we only use him for outdoor maintenance work," Arthur replied. "My father believes he is in league with Morgana."

" _Her_." James clearly knew who she was. "Isn't she always, like, trying to overthrow the kingdom and such?"

"Mostly she just steals food."

"Ah. Well that isn't … as evil as I heard. Sirius does the same thing all the time." They got ready to land, and moments later they were on the ground. Lord Black didn't seem to want to get off, however. Snow crooned at him.

"He likes you," James pointed out.

"I like _him_. May I _pleeeease_ keep him?"

James shook his head in defeat. Apparently all Blacks were dragon fans. Or maybe it was only those that were called Sirius? He couldn't tell.

"Sirius, a dragon is not a pet," he said, just as he had told his own Sirius at least three hundred times just today alone.

"I know, but I really, _really like him_!"

 _Oh look, they even argue the same_.

"Yeah, well. You're not keeping him. C'mon, let him go. We have to get Sirius — the other one — something to eat before he spontaneously starves to death."

"Will this do?" Arthur dangled a brace of rabbits before James' nose, skinned and ready for roasting.

"That will do nicely. I thought you said you didn't have any food?"

"I told you we didn't bring any edibles. Because they're all around us."

"You truly amaze me sometimes, Artie."

Arthur grinned.

James did short work of roasting the rabbits with a spell — Sirius would snatch them up and eat them raw otherwise, he knew — and led them to where his brother from another mother was busy playing veterinarian, like he had for the past hour, to keep his mind away from food.

Already he had patched up most of the beasts, which were coming to him — and until recently, James as well — with various complaints, ranging from a sprained wing all the way to cavities. Right now, Sirius was almost all the way inside of a huge dragon's mouth, looking quite like food himself, busy dislodging bits of an unidentifiable carcass from between its teeth… and was clearly considering _eating_ the rotten thing. It was too disgusting to even finish contemplating the thought.

"Stop that! _Stop_ that!" James snapped. "Padfoot, you're not _that_ desperate!"

"But I'm really, really _hun_ — Holy _Snitch_! _RABBIT_!"

And just like that, James was sans bunnies, and for a few short moments, all he heard were crunching, munching noises from his best friend. He was losing weight, James noticed, watching him. Despite the inordinate amount of food he kept shovelling into his mouth, it still never seemed to be enough.

"Come on, Doctor Pads," he prompted. "If you're all done with your patients, we have to get you some real food." And that thing off his foot… but he couldn't forget what that hag and her mates had been talking about in the dungeons the other day. He needed to talk to Merlin about that.

"Just a minute, there's a yearling that needs checking over… and then we can go."

"I'll help!" Excited beyond belief, the tiny Sirius skipped over to do just that. "I _love_ dragons!"

"Hey, so do I!" Sirius grinned, leading Sirius away. James just shook his head in defeat and went to join Artie, who was making friends of his own.

Two of them, that was simply too much, even for him.

.

* * *

.

In the ruins of the Camelot houses that hadn't escaped the dragons' wrath, something else was stirring.

Namely, a travelling wizard and salesman from Queerditch Marsh, who was on his way home. He had been selling his wares in the market — amulets, an original Resurrection Stone, and flatware for cooking — when he saw the dragons approach. While around him, the villagers were running like crazy this way and that, he spotted something that made him forget about running and search for a better lookout spot instead.

Two boys, it was hard to tell from here how old they were, were weaving their way between the dragons…

On _broomsticks_.

 _Flying_ broomsticks.

One was picking up fruit and vegetables from the stalls, while the other swung a club around and hit the produce at the dragons. It was amazing, and Anarawd Llewellyn couldn't tear his eyes off them, or their mounts, as they loop-de-looped, twisted and shimmied their way through the fire breathing reptiles.

When the crazy battle was over, Anarawd scrambled around in the wreckage, looking for at least one of the marvellous brooms. He'd take this to his brothers, Cynfor and Bran, and maybe they could make something of this.

Anarawd was so focused on looking for this amazing broom, that he didn't notice another strange occurrence that was strangely occurring a few feet away from him.

A group of four strangely dressed, dishevelled strangers, was stealing through the town, hurrying in their attempts to remain unseen. They were wet, smelled like day-old seaweed, and were covered in what looked like dried blue goat spit.

The leader of the group we already know; her name was Yvonne Hartmann, and she was followed by her operatives, fresh out of the Camelot dungeons. And the moat, where they had hidden until Uther's army had left and disappeared from view, which was also incidentally, the place where they had almost been eaten alive by a medieval moat monster.

Yvonne still insisted it was alien.

Her companions insisted it was freaking them out.

Their escape hadn't been flawless; they had been made by the butler, Dimbledore, who apparently had a hobby of sticking his long, pointy nose in everyone's business but his own.

He had threatened to sound the alarm, to make the knights that had gone to fight the dragons — such a ridiculous notion — turn back, unless she and her team came up with something worth his while.

Incredibly, they did, even going as far as cutting a deal to get their gear back from where the alien king and his wizard had hidden it.

In exchange, the old warlock would receive a plasma ray to call his own. He believed it was a weapon. Yvonne smiled mirthlessly. She'd kill the old man before he was even aware of what was going on. Then she'd open the portal and go home, regroup, and return with the full power of the Torchwood Institute.

" _Psst_!" Caught her attention. The old man had indeed come through! He had their full equipment inside a hovel, and was beckoning at them to approach.

"Very well done, old man," Tomtom said, handing her the plasma gun, as they had planned. "You didn't forget anything."

"Now for my consideration," was the reply. They stared at him. The old man huffed. "My pay."

"Here's your pay," Yvonne snarled, taking aim at him, and firing right into his surprised face.

Several things happened in quick succession: the old man staggered to his feet, his bushy eyebrows and beard singed rather badly, and started screaming, "WITCH! WITCH! SHE TRIED TO KILL ME! A _WITCH_!"

Then he grinned at Yvonne and yanked the door open, running outside yelling "WITCH!" at the top of his lungs, while a short, skinny man emerged from under a pile of rubble, shouting, "I found it! I found it!"

They didn't pay the man any mind, more preoccupied with the angry villagers who were _already_ coming their way, wielding pitchforks and torches.

.

* * *

.

They said their goodbyes, and Artie and James found themselves teaming up. They had all hands full trying to tear Sirius and… Sirius from their favourite animals ever to exist, and the first hour of the return ride was spent on a variation of, "No, Sirius, you cannot keep a dragon," complete with an equally predictable, if duplicate, rendition of what James knew to be standard Sirius arguments, which apparently had remained — and would remain — unchanged for over two millennia.

These could all be summed up in three words: "I _want_ one."

The last leg of the breakneck journey was less verbose, as Sirius — James' one — threw in a new argument, for variety's sake: "I'm hungry."

Then he started bemoaning that he had forgotten his trusty wicker basket when they left in a hurry. And complaining that he was hungry, and that he had a headache, and that he'd starve before they got back. By the time they came in sight of Camelot Castle, it had escalated to: "My small intestine just ate my large intestine and is eyeing my pancreas with entirely too much purpose."

"You're getting a full leg of ham to yourself as soon as we land," James promised, for the umpteenth time. He and Famine!Sirius were riding on one of the horses, with James holding on to Sirius to keep him from falling off — he was close to passing out from hunger by now — while Artie and Iwantadragon!Sirius were on the other mount, and James wondered why he hadn't just apparated Sirius back to the castle ages ago.

"You're all talk, just trying to seduce me," Sirius answered, clutching his stomach and swaying dangerously on the saddle.

"I solemnly swear, we're _seconds_ away from food. I can even hear the trumpets announcing our arrival, can't you hear it?"

And they were. Seconds away from food and getting a loud fanfare both.

"Prongs, I'm _starving_. I really, really am."

"I know, just hold on a minute—"

"You said _seconds_!"

"Yeah, hold on sixty seconds. Start counting."

James steered the horse to a landing, which went pretty well if you considered the added handicap of having to prevent Sirius from falling headfirst to the ground. As soon as the horse's hooves touched the earth, right in front of a few score applauding and cheering onlookers, Sirius seemed to have found his second wind.

He leapt off the flapping steed, on his way to the kitchens, then _lost_ his second wind and stumbled, caught himself, and was promptly cut off by — James stared —none other than _Guinevere_.

"Hello, lord Black," she said in the most seductive fashion _ever_ , smiling the most dazzling of smiles and fairly undressing Sirius with her eyes, while walking her fingers up his chest.

Sirius stared at her, then at her fingers, like she was even more disgusting than the rotting gunk he'd just pulled from out of the dragon's gullet, thereby proving that he had no taste at _all_.

None.

For his part, James felt jealousy, sharp and blinding, creep up from his stomach, or rather, from a bit below stomach level. Next to him, Artie was glaring at Sirius in a way that threatened to combust him on the spot.

"I saw your prowess with the dragons," said Guinevere breathily, her groping fingers seeking to undo the laces of his leather jerkin, as if she could now test him for another kind of prowess. Sirius caught her hand in his, and the more Guinevere's face lit up, the higher James' jealousy flared.

It was a _lot_ of flaring.

Next to him, Artie was gritting his teeth so hard, it was audible.

 _Criik, criik_.

"Good," Sirius answered, pulling her hands off him her completely and sidestepping her. "Means you're not blind. Bully for you."

It was hard to tell who was more shocked, Guinevere herself or James and Artie.

"He just…" Artie stammered.

"He _just_ …!" James echoed.

"Lord Black, _wait_!" Guinevere hurried daintily after him, but he blanked her completely, grinning widely at Rosie the pastry chef and pulling _her_ into a hug. She was carrying a large pigeon pie and was covered in flour, her hair half out of the braid she usually wore it in, but he embraced her as though she were a princess in the most gorgeous gown.

" _Gah_ ," James and Artie muttered at the same time, inventing the double facepalm right then and there.

"Are you two staying on here or can we get off now?" Sirius the younger asked impatiently.

"Yeah," James muttered sourly.

"Quite right," Artie gritted out.

They both dismounted, boring holes into Guinevere's back with their eyes.

She in turn, was sniffling and looking hurt… but she wasn't so much as _acknowledging_ that James or Artie even existed!

"As if he was the only heroic one," James muttered. "I was pretty heroic too."

"And I rescued you from… from... I was also heroic," Arthur gritted out.

 _Criik, criik_.

"Damn right you were," James agreed furiously. "We both were _amazingly_ heroic."

 _Criik, criik_.

Uther hurried out of the castle to greet them, though, smiling brightly and patting Sirius on the back — he was sitting on the stairs leading up to the Great Hall, laughing with Rosie and sharing his pie with her, while loudly lamenting the loss of his trusty wicker basket, which people were already looking for, but nobody had as yet, found.

The little Sirius was already regaling everyone else with a grand tale of his adventure, as excited as before, and randomly exclaiming, "I _love_ dragons!"

"Welcome my lads!" Uther boomed, throwing an arm around James and Artie, and ushering them inside. "Come, come, there is much to discuss. Dear nephew, do come and join us."

Sirius pecked Rosie on the cheek and took the last slice of the pie, winking at her as he all but leapt to his feet, his energy levels restored and his mood unflagging as ever.

And once again, _there_ was Guinevere.

"Lord _Black_ ," she told him impatiently, her voice and expression softening when he turned to look at her. "I do wish you could join me for a walk after your audience with the king."

"You're confusing me with Artie," he answered, taking a hearty bite from his delicious pie. "He's the one you want for that."

"Oh, but I do not want _him_ ," Guinevere answered. "I want—"

Deep inside the castle, someone popped the cork of a barrel. Sirius flashed Guinevere a dazzling grin.

" _Cider_!" he exclaimed.

Sirius was hurrying up the steps to the castle, polishing off his pie as he went. "Save some for me—" he suddenly stopped short, frowning in confusion. He turned to look at the princess, as though he had thought better of it and would agree to go "walking" with her. Though obviously, there would be next to no walking involved, the way she had planned it.

At least that's how Guinevere (and Artie, _and_ James) interpreted it.

" _Finally_ you come to your senses," Guinevere huffed, tapping her delicate foot at him.

"Cluck," said Sirius. His head gave a small jerk to the side, like a startled chicken. In the background, Artie let out a mocking, "Ha _HA_!" but James went from jealous to alarmed in an instant.

"What did you say? Did you just _cluck_ at me? At _me_ , Guinevere of Carmelide, daughter of King Leodegrance—"

" _Cluck_." Sirius grabbed his head, and he would have tumbled down the stone steps, if James hadn't caught him.

"Go get Merlin, quick!" He yelled at the princess, but she merely stared at him as though he were wearing his antlers and swishy tail, while he tried to revive his friend. Rosie was quicker on her feet however, and shot inside the castle as though her buns were on fire.

.

* * *

.

Not a handful of seconds had passed, when the old man returned with what looked like the entire village, armed with pitchforks and rakes and cudgels and torches, yelling, "WITCH! WITCH! _BURN HER_! SHE BROUGHT THE DRAGONS!"

"Hurry up, open the portal!" Will and Tomtom urged. Yvonne turned their vortex manipulator on, while her companions hurried to put on their helmets. Will slammed the door shut in the villagers' faces. Tomtom leaned on it. Jack drew the curtains closed on the nearest window.

" _Hurry_!"

The machine started whirring, the LED lights indicating that it was charging up.

The villagers were kicking at the door, nearly breaking through.

The portal opened.

"C'mon!" Jack jumped in, then Will, then Tomtom, who had held the door closed, made a break for it —

The portal fizzed out.

Tomtom Tomlinson wailed in despair.

Yvonne's scream of rage was heard as far as the town square.

It was drowned out by three hundred voices chorusing: "BURRRRN HERRRR!"

.

* * *

.

TBC.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up Next: The TARDIS lands. Merlin is useful, even though his sense of direction sucks. We meet Wendelin the Weird, the Doctor has an idea, Sirius has an idea, and Artie finds Sirius' basket.  
> Other Notes: Well, it's all caught up now, so the daily updates will stop. I'll post up new chapters as I finish them, but in the meantime I'd love to know what you think, if you've read this far.


End file.
